


This and Nothing More

by Mailsnail



Series: This and Nothing More [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, F/M, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8425951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mailsnail/pseuds/Mailsnail
Summary: In London 1949 schoolteacher Clara Oswald sets out to investigate when her friend goes missing. After a chance encounter with a mysterious detective who calls himself The Doctor, she finds that her friend isn't the only missing girl and she and the Doctor begin to unravel a very dangerous mystery. Is the culprit a man or something else entirely?





	1. The Disappearance of Nancy Starling

The Disappearance of Nancy Starling

October 8th 1949

Nancy Starling stepped out into the chill autumn evening and drew her heavy coat around herself. It was unseasonably cold for early October and Nancy felt the cold more than most. Times were hard and she could barely scrape together enough money for a meal. Her tights were all so laddered that she had to layer three pairs to cover all the holes. She was a tall, lean young woman, with long black hair and a pale complexion, giving her the look of a Victorian waif in the light fog.  
She hurried along the pavement, irritably picking at one of the loose threads on her ragged coat.  
“Don't know why I went over there!” she snarled under her breath. “She just wants to meddle! Well I'm not a little girl any more and she is not my mother!”  
Nancy was stirred into such a rage she barely noticed the man stepping out of the alleyway until she was almost on top of him. She stopped abruptly, with a yelp, and her eyes snapped up to see the man standing in her path. “Sorry.” she mumbled awkwardly, realising that he must have heard her talking to herself. She moved to go around him but he reached out a hand to her arm.  
“You OK there? Seem a bit... upset?” he asked. He was fully covered against the cold, with his chin tucked into his scarf and his hat pulled down low.  
“Fine, I'm fine.” She said a little uneasily. “Just trying to get home.”  
“It's a late night! It's dangerous 'round here luv. How's about I escort you the rest of the way?” He grinned and she saw the glint of a golden tooth. He held his hands up and laughed a little. “No funny business, I swear!”  
“OK, why not?” she said a little uneasily. There wasn't much that he could do out in the street, so she figured it would be OK. It wasn't like she was going back to his house or anything.  
He bowed elaborately, with much hand twirling and doffed his cap, then held his arm out for her to take. She giggled a little and took his arm.  
The pair strode off along the road, disappearing into the fog. 

October 10th 1949 

The bell tolled for the end of class and the children of class 7B all shifted in their seats impatiently with their eyes fixed on the diminutive form of their teacher. She rose from her seat.  
“Okay girls, That's all for today. What do you say?” She asked with her hands on her hips.  
“Good afternoon Miss Oswald!” They chorused. She waved her hands at them and they all leapt up excitedly and scurried out of the classroom.  
Clara Oswald smiled indulgently a she watched them all scrambling out of the room giggling and skipping. Even after six years teaching the kids could still make her laugh, even on a miserable Monday morning. She gathered her books and marking and slotted them carefully into her bag then made her way to the staff room.  
“Ah! Miss Oswald! Glad I ran into you...” Mr Armitage, the headmaster emerged from the staff room as she arrived with a friendly smile. He cornered her as she arrived at the staff room. “I heard you were looking for that Poe anthology? Just thought maybe that might be a little dark for the girls? You know, the hideous heart under the floorboards and all that?” He gave her a jovial smile.  
“Oh!” She said, a little taken aback. “Well, the stories are a bit dark, but they're classics. Anyway, it'll just be the top set. You know, the oldest girls.”  
“I'm just not sure if young ladies have the disposition for these more... er... macabre stories? Might upset them?” His smile looked a little more tight as he spoke.  
Clara took a deep breath, always her best method to prevent an angry response that could get her in trouble, and forced an extra sweet smile onto her face.  
“I didn't find that was a problem when we read Frankenstein. Which isn't surprising considering who wrote it.” She reminded him. He opened his mouth to speak again, looking increasingly flustered at her lack of acquiescence. “I'm sorry Mr Armitage, but I really have to get going!” She turned sharply and hurried off down the corridor, choosing to forgo the staff room.  
She stepped out into the crisp, chill air and hesitated. She had a choice on her hands. She could head back to her small flat and have a quiet night in, cook some dinner, listen to the radio, do some marking. Or she could head over to Nancy's house.  
Nancy was an old student of hers. She had been such a sweet, quiet girl in her school years. She had been a student in the very first class Clara had taught right in the middle of the war, when she had been 24 years old and so nervous her voice shook when she tried to tell off the more unruly children. Nancy had quickly become one of her favourite students, but after the death of her parents things had gotten hard for her.  
Clara knew she had gone to live with her uncle after the war but it wasn't until a few months ago that she had known anything more about it. They had run into each other in the street, a chance encounter, and Clara had invited her to have lunch and visited her a few times at her flat. It had been fine at first, Nancy had seemed quite pleased to see her and the two of them had talked about her school years and books and what all her old teachers were up to now.  
Until they had gotten around to talking about what Nancy was up to now. Her life was a mess, so Clara had voiced her concerns. Nancy was so gaunt and pale these days, her clothes so shabby, Clara knew she had to do something, say something. Clara just wanted to help. Nancy had not taken it well. It had come to a head that Saturday, with Nancy storming out of her house in the middle of the night after some particularly harsh words.  
Should she go and see her? Smooth things over? Or would she just make it worse?  
She hesitated, but then she spotted Mr Armitage strolling down the corridor out of the corner of her eye. Not wanting another annoying little chat with him she made her decision and started off towards Nancy's house. 

Clara knocked on the door to the house where Nancy rented a room. She waited, rocking back and forth on her heels nervously.  
It would be fine. She could smooth things over. She would just apologise and never bring up her concerns directly again. She could just buy Nancy meals, and suggest other places for her to live. Maybe find her a job?  
No, that wouldn't work. She remembered Nancy's angry words from Saturday night. Accusing Clara of trying to be her mother and telling her she didn't need her money or help. It was ridiculous really. What was wrong with getting a little help? Not to mention Clara was far too young to be Nancy's mother! Admittedly she might have gotten a little angry herself.  
The door swung open, revealing a large, blonde, middle aged woman.  
“Hello Mrs Cooper!” Clara said as brightly as she could manage through her apprehension. “Is Nancy in?”  
Mrs Cooper's face fell instantly. “You mean she hasn't been staying with you?”  
“No. Why would you think that?” Clara felt her heart rate pick up, her nerves suddenly twice as bad.  
“Nancy hasn't been home since Saturday. Said she was going to your house! I told her, don't you go walking home late, you stay at your friends house! You didn't let her go out walking the streets at night did you?” Mrs Cooper looked outraged, not to mention quite formidable. Clara's face reddened.  
“I couldn't stop her, she just stormed out. Are you sure she hasn't been back?” Clara asked desperately.  
“I've not seen her.” Mrs Cooper looked her over sternly. Clara squared her shoulders.  
“Do you know where else she might have gone?”  
“She's not got a lot of friends. Girl who lives next door said she ain't seen her and they're pretty friendly.” Mrs Cooper frowned. “I really just thought she was with you!” she said accusingly.  
Clara turned sharply and hurried down the steps away from the house. “Now where are you going? You aren't just going to go running off are you?” Mrs Cooper called angrily.  
“Sorry Mrs Cooper! I'm going to the police station!” Clara replied without looking back. 

If Mrs Cooper had been mad, she had nothing on Clara. Clara was steaming, pacing back and forth in the reception of the police station. The receptionist was watching her progress out of the corner of his eye, a bead of sweat on his forehead despite the chill in the air. Clara turned and laid her hands on the front desk.  
“Look, I've been here 3 hours now. 3 hours! It's getting late and its dark outside. I have to work tomorrow. When can I see a detective?” She said, keeping her voice low and as threatening as someone of her short stature could manage.  
The receptionist cleared his throat for the umpteenth time. Obviously a nervous tic. “I'm sorry but all the detectives are busy right now Miss Oswin.” He said shakily.  
Clara slapped a hand down on the desk. “Oswald!” She snapped. “It's Miss Oswald” She glared at him as fiercely as she could. “Now I'd better see a detective in the next five minutes or there's going to be a crime for them to solve right here!”  
The receptionist cleared his throat again. “I'll see if I can find someone...” He squeaked. He hopped up and practically ran into the back room. One of the other women sat in the waiting area stifled a giggle at the terrified receptionist's hasty retreat.  
After a couple of minutes, during which Clara waited, ramrod straight with her arms crossed, the receptionist returned with a police officer in tow.  
“All right then Miss, why don't you come through here with me and tell me what's troubling you?” The police officer removed his hat and waved her towards an interview room.  
Clara sat stiffly and set her bag down, still stuffed with her books and marking. The policeman sat opposite her and gave her a benign smile. He was young and fresh faced, with a little bit of fluffy stubble on his chin. “I'm Constable Stokes. What seems to be the problem?”  
“I'd like to report a missing person.”  
“All right then Miss Oswald. What's the name of the missing person?” He withdrew a pen from inside his coat.  
“Nancy Starling.” He scribbled in his notebook.  
“Age?”  
“19” More scribbling.  
“And when was she last seen?”  
“Saturday night.” His pen hovered above the paper.  
“And the last place you saw her?”  
“She was leaving my house, on Brewer Street. It's only a five minute walk to her flat on Poland street.”  
“Poland Street?” The policeman lowered his notebook and gave Clara what seemed to her to be a rather patronising smile. “Miss, not meaning to be rude but I think you might be getting worked up over nothing.”  
“I'm sorry?” Clara asked stony faced.  
“Well, ladies living in Soho, they're of a certain sort and, really nine times out of ten, you know...” He trailed off, perhaps hoping Clara would finish the thought for him.  
“I'm sorry?” Clara repeated coldly.  
“I think if you give it a few days she'll either show back up again, or else she's just moved on. Lot's of these girls living in Soho, er, working girls, they'll just go off and not tell anyone.” The police man smiled and closed his notebook.  
Clara stood sharply. “Excuse me, are you suggesting that my friend is a prostitute? You know I live in Soho and I am a school teacher!” She hissed. “Nancy is a young, vulnerable woman and she is missing!”  
Constable Stokes stood and motioned towards the door, still smiling as though she was a cute child throwing a tantrum. “Miss Oswald, I'm sure you are worried about your friend, but really there is no need to get yourself so worked up. How about you go home, have a nice cup of tea and give it a few days? I'm sure she'll show up.”  
Clara straightened her dress and stepped towards the door. “Well, constable, thank you for your time. I'll be sure not to let myself get too worked up again.” With that she slipped out of the door and into the reception area. The receptionist flinched at the thunderous expression on her face as she stormed past. She stepped out into the cold street and started back towards her house.  
How dare he suggest that Nancy had just wandered off? That she was a prostitute? That Clara was overreacting? The nerve!  
Well it didn't matter. If the police were too busy and disinterested to bother to look for a missing teenager then Clara would just have to do the work herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this story for Halloween but it's turned out pretty long so it won't all be done in time. The Doctor will show up in the next chapter so bear with me, I know it's annoying to have loads of set up! I've written fanfiction before but not in a long time so let me know how it's going if you have a minute.


	2. The Inspector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara is on the case

The Inspector

October 11th 1949

Clara rushed out of work as early as she could the day after her visit to the police station. She had a plan and the sooner she got started the better. She would walk along the route Nancy would have taken to get home and look for any sign of what might have happened to her. There was surely more than one route so she would double back and check the whole area. She would look for anything, signs of a struggle, something Nancy might have dropped. She knew there was a homeless man who slept on a bench along that route so she would ask him if he'd seen anything. Of course he was generally drunk and incoherent but it was worth a try.  
Clara dropped her bags at home and headed out onto he street. She turned onto Lexington Street and combed her way meticulously along the road, looking for anything suspicious. She spotted an alleyway halfway along the road which she carefully inspected, prodding at some rubbish bags with her foot and gingerly lifting the lid off of a bin.  
“God, what the hell am I doing?” She grumbled to herself. “Rooting through the bins like a bloody alley cat.”  
“First sign of madness!” A voice crowed from the other end of the alley. Clara hastily dropped the bin bag she had been examining and glanced around.  
It was the homeless man who slept in the doorway of the corner shop most days. He was bearded and shambling, his coat was heavy but old and threadbare.  
“Hi!” Clara decided to seize the opportunity to question him now while he seemed uncharacteristically sober. “Mr, er, Mr...” She clicked her fingers, struggling to remember his name.  
“Mister?” He said incredulously, with a wheezing laugh. “You're a strange one, ain't yah? I ain't a mister!” He wheezed a little more in amusement and tugged on his beard.  
“Right, sorry.” Clara relaxed her posture a little and casually moved towards him. “I actually wanted to ask you something. My name's Clara.” She held her hand out to him, which made him laugh some more. He shook it, looking rather pleased with himself.  
“Barnabas.” He replied, straightening out his worn, dirty coat and puffing his chest out.  
“Nice to meet you Barnabas. I was wondering if you were around this area on Saturday night? If you maybe saw a woman walking out here around 11pm?”  
Barnabas frowned. “I don't never see nothing, young lady. It's not clever to see stuff. Get you in trouble.” He shuffled back and forth and turned away from her in agitation.  
“So you saw something that you think might get you in trouble?” Clara asked shrewdly. She moved around to get a look at his face.  
“I...” He glanced at her furtively. “Don't tell no one I said this, right....” He leaned in conspiratorially. “We don't want it knowing I know about it, see? Or I'll be a goner. It knows what he knows, see?”  
“Who? What who knows?” Clara pressed urgently. She reached out a hand to steady him as he wobbled a little. His breath smelled a little of rum and cigarettes.  
“That man with the gold in his teeth. He's 'round a lot. Takes ladies off and you don't see them again. Takes 'em and the monster gets 'em!” His eyes were wide and a little crazed and he tugged on his beard in agitation while he grabbed her arm firmly with his other hand.  
Cara's tense shoulders slumped. “The monster.” She repeated flatly.  
“Monster, ghoul, whatever! I dunno what it is! I just seen it from a distance. Can't let it know you've seen it though!” He shifted nervously and pulled a bottle from inside his coat, taking a large gulp from it.  
Clara carefully extricated herself from his grip and patted his arm. “Right, well, thank you Barnabas. That's... very helpful.”  
“You won't tell no one?” He asked, his eyes going unfocused. “'Cos you can't let it know you've seen it!”  
“No, no! Your secret is safe with me Barnabas. Thanks again!” She backed away down the alley, then turned and hurried off towards Nancy's house. 

Three more trips back and forth and Clara had no more leads but the rambling of an inebriated homeless man. Though admittedly she had filed away 'the man with gold in his teeth', just in case.  
The next day was slightly less of a waste. Most of the people living in Nancy's house had absolutely nothing useful to tell her. One of them had suggested she might have gone to stay at her uncle's house, but that didn't seem very plausible to Clara. From what Nancy had told her they had never gotten along and she had run away from his house at the age of 16. Not to mention she hadn't taken any of her belongings and she would have had to leave in the dead of night.  
Mrs Cooper let her into Nancy's room but an hour of picking through her meagre belongings had done nothing but confirm that Nancy hadn't gone off somewhere. She had left everything, including the small amount of cash she had to her name.  
By Thursday Clara was feeling a little discouraged, but she was anything but a quitter so she had headed back out again after work and a quick dinner. She had to put off a couple of colleagues that she usually went out dancing with on Thursdays, and on Tuesday she'd had to avoid her landlady Mrs James, who was always trying to make her tea and set her up with her grandsons.  
The one lead she had managed to get from talking to Nancy's flatmates was that Nancy had been seeing a young man until a few months ago. Digging through Nancy's flat had turned up a mostly empty address book which had the address for a 'Martin'. It wasn't much, but it was the best Clara had, so she set off across town to visit the address.  
The weather was a little nicer that day but it was already growing dark by the time she was halfway there. She rounded the corner towards Euston Station and was met with the sight of several police cars with at least ten policemen milling about. Clara slowed her pace and eyed the policemen with interest. She wasn't one to pass up an opportunity. There were an awful lot of policemen there for one crime, surely she could just borrow one for a minute? Maybe he would be more helpful than the one she had spoken to on Monday.  
She casually wove through the crowd of curious onlookers that had gathered around the police and tried to work out exactly what was going on. One policeman nearby was talking to a young woman, so Clara tried to shuffle as close to them as she could.  
Then she spotted him. The policeman from the the other day. That patronising, judgmental boy, Constable Stokes. He was carrying his notepad and just sort of standing around, perhaps trying to appear as though he was doing something useful. She tried to stay out of his line of sight, since she didn't want him seeing her talking to one of his colleagues.  
She noticed that the girl who had been talking to one of the policemen had finished up. The girl looked pretty upset now that she got a good look at her.  
“Is everything okay?” She asked gently once she had managed to get to her through the crowd. “What happened here?”  
The girl wiped at her eyes and sniffed. “It's my friend.” She whimpered. “Lilly, she didn't come home last night and her dad hasn't seen her either. No one has!” she started to cry again, so Clara struggled to wrap an arm around the much taller girl's shoulder.  
“Oh, I'm so sorry! What did the policeman say?”  
“They're looking for her, that's all he said!” She sobbed.  
“Hey, that's pretty good though! At least they're looking for her! My friend went missing a couple of days ago and they aren't doing anything.” Clara gave the girl a comforting squeeze and hoped she would take the bait.  
“Wait... Your friend is missing too?” Her eyes widened. “You don't think it's connected do you? Maybe somebody kidnapped both our friends!”  
“Maybe! Clara said encouragingly. “Maybe we should tell that officer about it, in case it helps?”  
The girl nodded fiercely and seized her hand so she could drag her over to the policeman. He was a tall, broad shouldered man with a pencil moustache.  
“Excuse me, Sergeant King! This lady... um...” The girl glanced at her.  
“Clara”  
“Clara says her friend also went missing! She lives near here right?” The policeman was looking at Clara with interest. Now she was getting somewhere.  
“That's right, she just lives a few streets away. She went missing Saturday night.”  
“Did you file a missing persons report?” The policeman asked, withdrawing his notebook from his jacket.  
“I tried, but the officer I spoke to said it was nothing to worry about.” Clara said disdainfully, eyeing Constable Stokes who was still just standing and holding his notepad uselessly.  
“Who did you speak to?” Sergeant King asked  
“Stokes” She said, still watching him with distaste. “That one” she pointed him out and the Sergeant turned to look at him.  
“Stokes!” He called, waving the man over. “This lady says she tried to file a missing persons report with you?”  
Stokes, annoyingly, didn't look the least bit concerned that his Sergeant was questioning him. He laughed lightly and Clara felt a sudden urge to take his stupid notepad and beat him with it.  
“Oh, that's right! Like I told you Miss, when young ladies go missing round Soho, 90% of the time they show up a week later across town, shacked up with some man.”  
“So my friend goes missing and it's nothing, this girls friend goes missing and she gets a dozen policemen on the case!” she snapped.  
“It's not the same situation miss. You see this missing young lady is Lilly Woodhouse, daughter of Horace Woodhouse. I'm sure you know who that is.”  
Clara did know who he was but she didn't really see what it had to do with anything. “The MP?”  
“That's right. Now I'm sure you understand that a young lady like that goes missing, something terrible could have happened to her, so it's best we focus on finding her right away.” Lilly's friend started to sob again and Clara squeezed her arm sympathetically.  
Sergeant King clapped the constable on the back and shot him a warning look. “Alright Stokes, how about you go and report to Inspector Shelley? Tell him another girl went missing nearby? You got the details from Miss...”  
“Oswald.” Clara supplied a little smugly.  
“From Miss Oswald when she came in the other day?” Stokes nodded and waved his notepad at the Sergeant. “Alright Miss Oswald, how about you drop by the station tomorrow and I'll file a full report?”  
“Yes! I will! Thank you officer.” Clara felt a sense of relief. Even if she hadn't found Nancy yet, at least now someone other than her would be looking.  
Sergeant King waved them away and went to speak to another witness, leaving Clara feeling suddenly much lighter. She gave the tall, crying girl an awkward hug and reassured her that the police would find her friend. She made sure to get the girls name and address, just in case she wanted to do any more detective work.  
She headed back down the road towards her house. Not much point in talking to the ex-boyfriend when she could tell the police about him. Now she could go home for the evening and drop by the police station after work the next day. She was feeling almost cheerful for the first time since Monday.  
However, her good mood began to fade when she became aware that something was wrong. She felt a vague sense of unease as she got further from the gathered police. A shadow crept across the wall to her left, large and distorted. Someone was following her.  
She slowed down at the realisation, tense and ready to run. She heard someone clear their throat close behind her. A hand landed on her shoulder.  
She whipped around and shoved the hand away from her as hard as she could. The owner of the hand was a tall, thin man. He looked quite scandalised at her reaction.  
“What was that for?” He asked. His accent was Scottish. She couldn't see much of his face in the darkness.  
“You were following me!” She exclaimed, brandishing her handbag at him like a weapon.  
“Well, I wanted to talk to you and you were walking away pretty fast! You know, you're surprisingly dangerous considering your size.” He gestured at her, probably to point out to her that she was, indeed, small. She chose to ignore his comment about her height.  
“Why were you following me?”  
“I saw you talking to the bobby. Looked like you had something a bit more interesting than the same old drivel the rest of them were giving out.” She saw a flash of his teeth as he smiled at her. A sharks grin.  
“What does that have to do with you?” she asked coldly.  
“Right! Yes!” He slapped his forehead then drew something out of his breast pocket. He flashed a police I.D at her. “Detective Inspector Smith. John Smith. Rubbish name, obviously. You can just call me The Doctor.”  
Clara snorted. “Why would I do that?”  
“Well, it's a lot better than Smith, isn't it?” From what she could see of him, he looked a little crestfallen. She was suddenly suspicious that he might be either crazy or an idiot.  
“Okay Inspector Doctor. What can I do for you?” She crossed her arms a little defensively.  
“How about you tell me what you told Sergeant Moustache over there. I think there might be a connection between all these recent disappearances.”  
“If you're with the police why can't you just ask him what I said?” She paused. She'd missed something there. “Hang on... what other disappearances?”  
“Ah, got your attention there, eh?” He grinned again, but now he was standing under the street light it didn't look so unpleasant. A little pleased with himself, maybe, but not so shark-like. He had a long, slightly crooked nose and bushy, serious eyebrows. Put together they gave him the look of a bird of prey. His hair was short and greying, and his eyes an icy blue. “Let's go get a cup of tea or something? You can tell me what you know.”  
Clara watched him thoughtfully. “One condition.” she said, holding her finger up sternly. He nodded and shrugged at the same time. “You tell me what you know.”  
“I'm an officer of the law you know? Not a nosy busybody.”  
“What's that supposed to mean!” Clara snapped.  
“Nothing. Anyway, I suppose I can tell you about the other missing person cases. Probably won't do any harm.” He smiled again and now Clara decided that he was probably not an idiot, but he might be a little bit crazy.  
“I already talked to Sergeant King. I'm sure the case is in good hands.”  
“What Errol Flynn over there? Not very likely. Man's an idiot. You can tell.” The Inspector, or 'The Doctor', gestured towards a nearby café. “So, Tea? Or... Coffee? Chips?”  
Clara hesitated. He was obviously a little eccentric, but he was a police officer and he seemed friendly and harmless enough, if a little rude. It wouldn't hurt to have more people on the case. Not to mention he had piqued her curiosity when he mentioned there being other disappearances.  
“Okay. Tea. You're paying.” She headed over the road towards the café he had pointed out, with him awkwardly following behind. “I'm Clara Oswald, by the way. Since you didn't ask.”  
“Clara.” He said experimentally. She thought the word sounded nice when he said it. It must have been the accent. They entered the café and sat in the far corner, where Clara was sure they wouldn't be overheard.  
“Okay Doctor, tell me about these disappearances.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any really strange typos are due to my cat lying on the keyboard.


	3. The Meeting

The Meeting

13th October 1949

Clara sat opposite the Doctor, shifting on the uncomfortable chair. She watched him fidget with the salt shaker, moving it back and forth across the map he had spread across the table.  
“So, you last saw her on Saturday and she went missing somewhere between Brewer Street.” He banged the salt shaker on top of the map, right over Clara's house. “and Poland Street.” He banged the salt shaker again. “Do you know what that means?” He leant forward and raised his eyebrows.  
“That... she went missing on Lexington Street?” Clara guessed, pointing at the street on the map.  
The Doctor rolled his eyes. He pulled the map away from her. “No! Well maybe. But that's not the important thing.”  
“What's the important thing?” She leant forward now in interest. The doctor pulled a pen from inside his coat and drew Five crosses on the map. One on Lexington Street, one right over where the politicians daughter had gone missing, one on Dean Street, one on Wardour Street and the last one along Charing Cross Road. “Four disappearances, all in Soho.” The doctor drew a rough circle around Soho. “But one, the most recent one, outside Soho.” He pointed one long, bony finger at the cross near Euston Station.  
“There have been three more disappearances?” Clara exclaimed, loud enough that two men sitting a few tables away looked around at her.  
“That I know of so far. All within the last month. All in Soho. Until today.”  
“So, whoever is doing this, they're branching out?” Clara guessed.  
“Exactly. Spreading the net. But I don't think these are the only missing girls. It's hard to keep track since a lot of them don't get reported. Or the police aren't interested when someone does try to report it.”  
At that moment the waitress arrived with their tea. The doctor poured his while Clara digested the information he had just given her. The doctor produced several sugar cubes from his inside pocket. He blew on them to remove some lint, before dropping five of them into his tea.  
“You've got all sorts in there don't you?” Clara eyed his jacket. It looked like a rather plain black jacket, but she saw the inside had a red lining. Not to mention pockets that were apparently big enough to hold a wallet, a pen, a full map of London and several sugar cubes.  
“Never know what you might need.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small mirror and a box of matches.  
Clara busied herself pouring her tea to avoid laughing. She was now pretty certain that the Doctor was crazy.  
“So do you have any leads? I mean if the disappearances are all connected, that's got to make it easier to find them right?”  
“Leads? Loads of them, too many.” He ran his hand through his short hair and tugged on it a little. “Can't seem to get them all straight.”  
“I can help, if you want?”  
The Doctor stared at her blankly for a moment. “Help?”  
“Yeah, I could help you interview witnesses, help you organise all your notes. I am really good at organisation.” Clara grinned at him.  
“I don't need a secretary, Clara.” The Doctor laughed and Clara's winning smile faded instantly.  
“I wasn't asking to be your secretary, I was offering my help. If you don't want it you could just say no.” Clara said coldly. The Doctor had the good grace to look a little ashamed for laughing.  
“Clara, I don't think you appreciate the risks involved here. You already live right in the middle of the place all these girls have gone missing from.”  
Clara pushed her tea away “Fine. Okay. Do you need anything else? I did do some digging of my own, but if you don't need my help I'll just-” Clara made as though she was going to stand.  
“What, you're leaving now? Have you got somewhere to be?” The Doctor asked incredulously.  
“Well you don't want my help...” Clara picked up her bag and gestured towards the door.  
“Trust me, you don't want to help me.” The Doctor's eyebrows furrowed making him look quite cross.  
“Yes, I do.”  
“You want to help? Tell me about any leads you have, then drop it. I will take up the case from here.” He pointed a long finger at her. “You will stay inside your house after dark so I don't have another disappearance to deal with.”  
Clara slowly sat back in her seat. “Do you think I'm in danger?” Clara felt a little sick. The last few days she had been all over Soho during the evening, looking for Nancy.  
“Maybe. I haven't solved the crime yet, so who's to say?”  
“You really think you're clever don't you?” Clara scoffed. The Doctor didn't seem offended by her derisive tone. He grinned his shark-like grin.  
“I do, yes. Now why don't you tell me what you've dug up.”  
Clara sighed resignedly. “Well, there's this.” Clara pulled Nancy's address book out of her bag and opened it to the page for Martin. “Nancy's ex. Probably nothing but I was on my way to talk to him anyway.”  
“Yes. Probably nothing.” The Doctor said a bit dismissively, though he still took the address book and slipped it into his inside pocket. “Anything else?”  
Clara shifted in the uncomfortable seat again. She was just now realising how little she had managed to find.  
“Well, it's... This is even more nothing than the last thing really. It's not even worth mentioning.” Clara busied herself drinking her tea to avoid having to look him in the eyes.  
“You've already mentioned it now! You'd better finish. I'm on tenterhooks here.” Clara met his eyes and found he was smiling. Not the shark smile or the smug smile but something a little more honest.  
“Okay, so I talked to a homeless man who lives along the road from me. He's... Drunk about 90% of the time and he might be a little... off in the head.”  
“Sounds like an excellent source.” The Doctor cut in. Strangely he didn't sound like he was being sarcastic.  
“He told me something about seeing a man with gold teeth. He said he's seen girls going off with him but they don't come back.” Clara met the Doctor's intense, interested stare. “He also said some stuff about the guy feeding them to a monster of something so, like I said, probably nothing.”  
“A monster?” The doctor leant back in his chair and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. “What did he say exactly.”  
Clara laughed. “It was just rambling. He was drunk. It's not a monster taking these girls.”  
“What were his exact words?” The Doctor asked seriously. Clara's smile faded. She racked her brain to remember what Barnabas had said.  
“He said, um, it can't know that you know about it. Or it'll 'get you'. He said it knows what he knows. The man with the gold teeth.”  
The Doctor watched her thoughtfully for a few long moments. Then he relaxed and drained the last of his tea. “Yes! Well, probably nothing. Sure it's nothing.” He gathered all the assorted items he had strewn across the table and stuffed them all into his inside pocket. “Now, really must be going. Got a monster to hunt.” He still didn't sound like he was being sarcastic. He turned to head towards the door, but turned back sharply. “Oh, and make sure you stay inside after dark. Got enough to be doing without having to look for you too.”  
“Wait, you're just leaving? What if I want to get in touch with you?” Clara stood and put herself between the Doctor and the door.  
“No need. You won't be doing any more digging, so you won't have anything to tell me. When I've solved the case, I'll drop by and let you know.” With that the Doctor slipped past her and out the door.

October 15th 1949

Much as he had annoyed her, Clara really did try to follow the Doctor's advice. She didn't like to admit it but she was a little scared after hearing that five girls had gone missing so close to her house, so after school that Friday she had headed straight home to catch up on work.  
But by morning she was already starting to feel a little restless. She didn't like to be doing nothing. She supposed that what she really needed to do was go to the shop. She was out of bread and eggs and only had about 2 days worth of tea left.  
But Nancy was still missing and she was supposed to rely on some eccentric detective to find her? When he had four other missing girls to worry about? Maybe if she just went out during the daytime... After all, the Doctor had told her not to leave the house at night, so if she went out in the day and did a little investigating, what harm could that do?  
That's how Clara found herself across town on Saturday afternoon. She had put on her most professional looking dress and coat and headed out to pay a visit to the friend of Lilly Woodhouse that she had met on Thursday evening.  
She rang the doorbell and waited, straightening out her clothes and checking her hair in the glass door. The door swung open and she was met with a red, blotchy face, wet with tears.  
“Hi Emily! Thought I'd drop by and check on you.”  
“Oh, Clara... I'm sorry!” She gestured towards her face and Clara hastily pulled some tissues from her bag. She took the tissue and noisily blew her nose. “I'm sorry.” She repeated. “I actually have company now...”  
“Sorry, I shouldn't have just dropped by. Of course you're busy!” Clara tried to hide her disappointment behind a friendly smile. She turned to head back down the steps but Emily caught her arm.  
“Actually, why don't you come in? I was just talking to a detective. Maybe you could talk to him too, since your friend is missing as well?” Emily croaked. She looked like she had been crying pretty heavily.  
“Okay, sure.” Clara let Emily drag her into the house. “Wait, this detective... Tall, Scottish, looks like an angry owl?”  
“Yes?” Emily looked at her in puffy, red faced confusion. Clara smiled tightly.  
“Maybe I should come back some other time.” Clara disentangled her arm from Emily's vice-like grip and headed back towards the door as quickly as she could without it looking strange.  
“Do you have a little more sugar?” Clara froze at the door. She glanced around to see the Doctor's head peeking out of the living room. She cringed at being caught. The Doctor stepped into the hallway and glowered at her. The effect would have been more intimidating if he hadn't been holding a delicate pink teacup. “Clara Oswald. What a startling coincidence!”  
Clara turned back towards him and schooled her features into something nonchalant. “Doctor! I was just here to check on Emily. I met her the other night and I was a little worried about her. I know how upset she must be...” Clara gave Emily's arm a comforting squeeze. “Although, she seems a little more upset than I was expecting.” Clara gave him her most accusing look.  
“I'm sorry Miss Green, but I think Miss Oswald and I need to have a quick chat.” The Doctor was speaking to Emily but he didn't shift his gaze away from Clara. She returned his gaze unblinkingly. She decided that she wasn't going to bother being ashamed.  
“Yeah, I think we should.” Clara shot back. Emily looked between the two of them in confusion.  
“Okay, you can use the living room. I'll just make some more tea.” Emily shuffled off into the kitchen sniffing loudly.  
The Doctor stepped back and gestured for Clara to go into the living room. Once she was inside he rounded on her, scowling quite impressively.  
“I thought you said you weren't going to do any more digging?” He said irritably.  
“Actually I didn't. You told me to stay inside after dark so nothing happened to me. Which I did. But I never actually said I'd stop investigating.”  
“No no no. If I do it, it's investigating, if you do it, it's just being nosy!” The Doctor growled. He was still holding the flowery pink teacup, although he was waving it around a little dangerously. Clara reached out and took the cup out of his hands so she could put it down on the dresser.  
“It's not nosiness. It's concern. My friend is missing, Emily's friend is missing. I'm just trying to do all I can to find them.” Clara set her hands on her hips.  
“You've already done plenty. I am on the case now, you can go back to work at the hospital or lab or wherever it is you work.”  
“It's a school.”  
“School? No no, you're far too old for school! You must be confused.” The doctor flopped down in a squashy pink armchair and buried his face in his hands. Clara opened her mouth to explain that she taught at the school, but she thought better of it. Best to pick her battles.  
“So what are you doing here?” She asked.  
He glanced up at her from behind his hands, looking tired and bedraggled. “Investigating.”  
“Your sort of investigating involves a lot more crying than it probably should.” Clara observed.  
“Yes, it does seem a bit excessive.” He agreed. “Not really sure how to make it stop. Every time I mention her friend she starts leaking like a tap.”  
“I think you might be going about it wrong. She's a witness, not a suspect.”  
“Well that's where you're wrong. Everyone's a suspect.” The Doctor said darkly.  
“So I'm a suspect?” Clara laughed lightly. “How exactly would I kidnap someone? Overpower them with my superior strength?”  
The Doctor's face got even darker. “You catch a lot more flies with honey than vinegar, Clara.”  
“Good point... That is a good point.” Clara sank slowly into an armchair. “Do you think maybe the girls might know whoever's kidnapping them?”  
“Maybe. Or at least he or she is very friendly. Lures them away by acting harmless. Maybe asks for help even. What nice young lady wouldn't help someone in need?” The Doctor picked up his little teacup and took a sip, somewhat undercutting his ominous tone.  
Clara was startled out of her thoughts by Emily coming into the room carrying a tray with fresh tea and a little bowl of sugar cubes.  
“There we go.” She said shakily. “It's so nice of you to drop by Clara.”  
“That's okay. I just thought I'd see how you're doing. Find out if you'd heard anything.” Clara accepted her own little pink teacup and watched as the Doctor added several sugar cubes to his.  
“No news yet.”  
“Right, well, that was a lovely visit.” The Doctor said suddenly. “Now Miss Green, you were telling me about all of your friend's ex boyfriends. She really had quite a few, didn't she?” He grinned. Emily started to cry again.  
“Doctor!” Clara hissed. _What are you doing? _She mouthed. The Doctor's face was a picture of innocence.__  
Clara squeezed onto the sofa next to Emily and rubbed her back soothingly. “It's okay Emily, I know it's hard but if you make sure you tell the Doctor everything you know, it's going to make it easier for him to find Lilly.”  
“Exactly, that's what I told her.” The Doctor shrugged at Clara as though he couldn't understand what he was doing wrong.  
“Why don't you get a pen and write down anyone you can think of who might have something to do with this? Ex-boyfriends, family friends, co-workers.” Clara helped her to stand with some difficulty.  
“O-Okay. Do you really think it'll help?” Emily asked her.  
“I don't know, but we just have to do everything we can, right?”  
“Yeah” Emily gave her a watery smile and went back to the kitchen to get a pen and paper.  
Clara leant against the door frame and observed the Doctor. He was holding his teacup looking bemused.  
“How did you get her to stop crying? That was actually pretty impressive. You should teach people how to do that.”  
Clara pressed her fingers to her temple to push back the headache she could feel coming on.  
“Doctor.” She said in her stern, teacher voice. “You're a detective, so I assume you have spoken to witnesses and _human women _before. How are you so bad at this?”__  
“I'm not really the social sort. Tend to prefer following the evidence. This case is really a nightmare of interpersonal relations.”  
Clara considered him for a moment. “You need my help.” She decided.  
“Clara, I already told you, this is too dangerous. You will stay out of it from now on.” He said sternly.  
“You need my help.” Clara repeated. Their gaze held for several seconds. A challenge.  
“Do as you are told.” The Doctor growled.  
“I'm not going to drop this. So, either I help you and you know where I am so there's no way I can get kidnapped or murdered, or I carry on on my own.” Clara still didn't look away. The Doctor looked at her thoughtfully for several, silent minutes.  
“You may come with me when I interview witnesses. I will escort you home afterwards. You will not do anything without me. Especially not in the evenings.”  
“Deal.” Clara stuck her hand out and the Doctor took it reluctantly. He shook it as though he had never shaken hands before. “So do you have any other leads? I'm free for the whole day, so...”  
The Doctor took a small notebook from his inside pocket and leafed through it. “Well, I have the friend of another girl, an ex-boyfriend and your friends landlady. You could probably lend a hand.”  
“What about that address? Martin? Did you find anything?” Clara asked.  
“Dead end.” He grunted. “They said he moved away last year. Got some clerical job in Sheffield.”  
Clara deflated a little.  
Emily shuffled back into the room and gave the Doctor her handwritten list of leads. Clara thanked her profusely, since the Doctor didn't think to do so. The Doctor seemed anxious to leave, but Clara wouldn't leave until she was sure Emily had stopped crying. It seemed right that the Doctor have to deal with the consequences of being so insensitive.  
The pair of them stepped out onto the street half an hour later, after Emily had forced another cup of tea and several biscuits on them. Clara wrapped her coat around herself and turned to grin up at the Doctor.  
“Okay Doctor. Let's start digging.”


	4. The Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and the Doctor team up to solve the crime.

The Search

October 16th 1949

Clara had spent the whole of the previous day with the Doctor, struggling to smooth over his rough edges while he conducted his interviews. As a result she was feeling pretty drained by Sunday morning. The Doctor seemed to have a knack for rubbing people up the wrong way, or else simply upsetting them with his tactlessness.   
The interview with Nancy's landlady Mrs Cooper was particularly difficult. She was quite a wilful woman and she had taken an instant dislike to the Doctor. What made it worse was that it was quite obvious that Mrs Cooper partly blamed Clara for Nancy's disappearance.   
She had turned out to be a dead end, since she knew even less than Clara did. The friend of another missing girl had also thrown up nothing useful, but the ex boyfriend had suggested they visit a young woman who he said had been friends with at least two of the missing girls. He said that recently she had been frequenting the local church on Sundays. It was for that reason that Clara found herself ready to enter a church for the first time in 13 years. She wasn't a fan of churches.   
St Patrick's church wasn't much to look at from the outside, a red brick tower on an unassuming corner. The only clue that it was a church was the small cross and statue of what she guessed was St Patrick over the doorway. Looking up at the cross she suddenly felt like she was 16 years old again, standing in the churchyard for her mother's funeral. Churches were old and draughty and always so deathly silent. Churches reminded Clara of death.   
They both stood looking up at the church, though neither of them made any move to go in.   
“Why don't you go in and see if she's there?” Clara said with false cheer. She gave him a little push towards the door.   
“What do you mean? I'm not leaving you out here.” The Doctor stepped back towards her and away from the church.   
“It's fine. It's the middle of the day. Just go in and see if she's there.” Clara insisted.   
“Why don't you go in there?” He spluttered. Clara stared up at him for a moment.   
“Fine, we'll both go in. Come on.” Clara squared her shoulders and walked towards the church. She stopped dead at the bottom of the steps when she realised that the doctor was still standing several feet away on the road. “What? You don't want to go in?”   
The Doctor pulled a face. “Lapsed Catholic. Catholics are... good at making you feel guilty.”  
“Well they won't know about you being Catholic unless you tell them. Come on!” The Doctor walked up to join her, dragging his heels.   
“They'll know. They can smell it.” He glared up at the statue with it's hand raised in blessing. “Why don't you want to go in there?”   
“I'm fine. I'm happy to go in there.” Clara said breezily. She really didn't want to go into why she didn't want to go into the church. Not with the Doctor and not when she had something important to do.   
The Doctor followed behind her as she pushed the door open and entered the church.   
“Even I know that's a lie.” The Doctor muttered. Clara ignored him.   
The inside of the church was open and light, which was a pleasant surprise for Clara. Light poured in through the high windows though it still had that echoing, oppressive silence that all churches seemed to have. The Doctor didn't seem impressed. She spotted him eyeing a statue of the virgin Mary with unease.   
The room contained several stragglers from the morning mass so Clara walked further in to get a good look at them all.   
“Hello there, do you need some help?” A young man asked Clara. He was a short, lean man with red hair. He smiled kindly. “I'm afraid you missed mass.”   
“Oh no! We'll have to catch it next time. Right Doctor?” She latched onto his arm and pulled him towards the young man.   
“Yes. Lovely. A good mass. So are you the priest then?” The Doctor failed to keep the antipathy out of his voice.   
“I'm the Deacon. Frank Hoy.” He held his hand out to the Doctor, who ignored it and turned towards the statue of the Virgin Mary. The Deacon lowered his hand.   
“We were actually looking for someone.” Clara decided to take charge. Being in the church seemed to have unsettled the Doctor more than her. “Her name is Elizabeth Kessler.”   
“Oh, Betty?” He glanced around the church and seemed to spot her. “What did you want her for? She's not really doing too well.”   
“We wanted to ask her a few questions about her missing friends. Do you think she would be up to it?” Clara craned her neck to get a look at Betty. She appeared to be deep in prayer.   
“Go easy on her. Two of her friends have gone missing this last month. It's hard out on the streets for ladies like Betty. Er... if you follow?” The Deacon blushed. The Doctor turned back to look at him.   
“Ah, so she's a prostitute? I suppose that means her friends were as well?” The Deacon blushed an even deeper red. “That explains why the police haven't been bothering. Surprised to see you care if I'm honest.” The Doctor looked the Deacon up and down approvingly.   
“I'm a man of god. I'm happy to help anyone who seeks the lords guidance.” The Doctor turned away again, looking more uncomfortable than ever.   
He pointed over to where Betty was sat praying. “So that's her over there?” The Deacon nodded his confirmation and the Doctor bolted over to where she sat. Clara gave the Deacon an apologetic shrug and followed him.   
“Betty?” She said quietly, sitting on the pew at her side. Betty was a skinny, nervous looking woman with a mop of dirty blonde hair. She looked up at Clara over clasped hands. She nodded slightly and glanced nervously at the Doctor, who had chosen not to sit, but to loom over the two of them awkwardly. “My name is Clara and this is...” Clara hesitated. “This is Inspector Smith. He's looking into your friends disappearance.”   
Betty lowered her hands. “You're looking for my friends? But the police haven't said anything. They weren't interested at all! Three girls go missing and they said I was being hysterical!” Her voice rose and shook with anger. A few other worshippers looked around at the echoing of her raised voice.   
“Three girls?” The Doctor's impressive eyebrows shot up in surprise. “That would be Alice MacNeil, Anne Freeling and...”   
“Gill. Gillian Thompson. She was out on Wednesday night and I haven't seen her since. We usually meet up on Fridays but she didn't show up.” She shook with suppressed tears.   
“It's okay, we're looking for them now. We're going to do everything we can to find her.” Clara said soothingly.   
“And where was she when she went missing?” The Doctor asked. He fished a pen and notebook out of his voluminous inside pocket.   
“She usually works down on Berwick street.” He nodded knowingly and scribbled in his notebook.   
“Do you happen to know an Angela Myers or a Nancy Starling?” He watched her owlishly over his notebook.   
“No. Why?”   
“They've also gone missing. Recently.” Clara explained. “Nancy's a friend of mine. We were wondering if there was something that connected all the girls that went missing.”  
“Is Nancy a working girl too? The police really don't care what happens to us.” Betty clutched her hands together again.  
“No, I don't think so.”  
“Why would you ask that?” The Doctor asked. He lowered himself into the pew at Clara's side.   
“Well I thought that might be a connection?” Betty frowned at the Doctor. “Because me and Annie and Gill and Alice, we all know each other through... um, work.”  
“Yes, you're all prostitutes. Is there anything else you have in common?” The doctor pressed. “A person maybe?”   
Betty looked taken aback. “Well, there's Ricky.”   
“That would be your pimp?” The Doctor lifted his pen to his notebook. She nodded. “Can you give me a full name?”   
“Richard Leigh. You don't think he did this? Why would he do that?” Betty looked up at the Doctor with tear-filled eyes.   
“We don't know if he has anything to do with it but he might know something. If he knows three of the missing girls he could help us.” Clara placed her hand over Betty's, which were still clasped in prayer. She relaxed a little.   
“I can give you his address.” The Doctor handed her his pen and notebook. She wrote in the book then looked at Clara. “Do you think... would someone be able to keep an eye on us? Me and the other girls? I'm so scared at the moment, every time I go out to work I-” She shuddered nervously and pushed the notebook into Clara's hands. Clara looked up at the Doctor. He was gazing across at the statue of the Virgin Mary with glazed eyes. Clara cleared her throat and he shook himself out of his reverie.   
“Yes, I'll patrol the area. I should be enough to scare anyone off.” He wiggled his bushy eyebrows at them. Clara smiled, feeling a sudden rush of warmth towards him.   
“Yeah, the first time I met him he scared the life out of me.” Betty giggled softly and the doctor looked vaguely pleased with himself. She handed the notebook back to Betty. “Why don't you give us your address as well? And the addresses for any other girls you know in the area. We can visit them, ask them a few questions. Keep an eye on them?” She glanced at the Doctor who nodded slightly.   
After saying goodbye to the Deacon, with the Doctor watching the door the whole time as though he was about to bolt, they left the church and headed out into the sunny autumn day.   
“Not so bad, was it?” Clara squinted up at him, the sunlight obscuring his face. He just gave a non-committal grunt. “I thought it was quite beautiful in there actually. Not like I was expecting.”   
They headed off down the road and Clara leafed through the Doctor's notebook. He hadn't been kidding about how many leads he had. The book was full of addresses and descriptions and the names of the missing girls. She flicked through to find the addresses that Betty had just given them, but stopped short when she found her own name. The page listed her address and that she was a friend of Nancy. It also described her as 'local busybody, extremely bossy'. Clara was about to give the doctor a telling off for describing her in such a way (even if it was somewhat accurate) when she spotted the next line. He had written 'man with gold teeth' and underlined it three times.   
“The man with the gold teeth? I thought you said that was nothing?” She said a little accusingly. She felt sure the Doctor knew more than he was telling her.   
“Could be nothing. Could be important. Don't want to forget about him in case he comes up again.” The doctor plucked the notebook out of her hands and flicked through the pages. “What do you say? We could try the pimp's house or keep it a bit more local and drop in on Miss Kessler's friends.”  
Clara watched him for a long moment. She was sure he was trying to change the subject but she thought pressing him on the matter would have little effect.   
“Let's check in on the girls. Betty seemed pretty worried, we should make sure they're all safe.” Clara replied. The Doctor looked a little disappointed that she had chosen the less exciting, more practical option. 

They headed a few streets down, where several of the girls lived on the same street. The first door they tried there was no answer, which made the Doctor scribble something in his notebook. The next house, the girl had turned them away curtly and offered no information. The third house, a young lady answered who reluctantly let them come into the house. She was a slightly stocky young woman with very long brown hair twisted up into a bun. She sat them in her small kitchen and brought them a glass of water.   
“So yer a detective?” She asked. The doctor nodded his confirmation. “And you're what? His secretary? Shouldn't you be back at the station taking calls?”   
Clara bristled a little.   
“Clara is assisting me. She's...” The Doctor groped around for the right word.  
“Public relations.” Clara supplied. The Doctor looked fairly pleased with the description.   
“So you want what exactly? For me to stay in the house at night so I don't go the way the rest of them have?” She looked at them angrily. “Well if I do that I won't be able to eat and Ricky'll be mad as hell. I gotta make money you know.”   
“Oh, well I suppose when you put it like that it would be completely mad for me to advise you to stay safe. Feel free to wander the streets of Soho at all hours.” The Doctor said scathingly. Clara kicked his shin under the table.   
“Look, Miss Hardy, we aren't going to tell you what to do, we just wanted to warn you to be very vigilant and not to go off alone with any people you don't know.” Clara said as kindly as she could.   
Miss Hardy, who hadn't bothered to give a first name, burst into raucous laughter.   
“Don't go off with strange men, eh? That's gonna be pretty bloody difficult!” she crowed. Clara blushed at the realisation that it was quite stupid to tell a prostitute to avoid strange men. “You daft lass, you've got no idea do you? With yer fancy clothes and yer fancy boss.” She chuckled drily.   
“Right, well, you seem to already have everything under control. Do remember to give us a call if you get kidnapped by a maniac?” Clara snapped. She stood suddenly, startling the Doctor.   
“Clara.” He said quietly. A warning glance. That made a change, the Doctor being the one trying to keep the peace. Maybe he was picking up a few things already. She walked across to stand by the fridge and leaned against it to keep a little distance between her and the other woman. The Doctor pushed his notebook towards her, open at the page with the missing girls listed. “Do you recognise any of these names?”   
Miss Hardy glared at Clara for a moment, then she looked down at the page. “Sure, I know 'em, 'cept Nancy, Angela and Lilly. Never heard of them.” She looked up at the Doctor. “That yer whole list?”  
“That's everyone we know of. It's hard to keep track.” Said the Doctor.   
“Well yer missing Beth, for one. Went missing about a month ago. First one to go. Didn't think nothing of it at the time. Thought she'd just gone off somewhere. And that homeless feller. Jasper or summat.”  
“Can you give me full names? Last time you saw them?”   
Miss Hardy gave them the few details she could, ignoring Clara the whole time. She couldn't give them a full name for the homeless man and she seemed almost deliberately vague about them both.   
“The Doctor will be in the area this evening, keeping an eye on all of you.” Clara thought she'd make an effort to be nice to her since so many of her friends had gone missing. She was allowed to be a little short with them.   
“What's he doing that for?” Miss Hardy pulled a face.  
“For the purpose of making sure none of you go missing. I would have thought that was fairly obvious.” The Doctor grumbled.   
“You should be going to see Ricky. That's four of his girls gone missing. You wanna arrest him, that'll keep us safe. More'n you watching over us, scaring off the punters. No fella could get in the mood with you watchin 'im from round the corner.” Said Miss Hardy dismissively.   
Clara had to admit, she had a good point. The Doctor was a policeman after all, he would be enough to put off any customers. The Doctor huffed and went to stand by the door, grumbling about how he couldn't win.   
“So you think your pimp is the one responsible?” Clara asked.   
“Well, bit of a coincidence, right? I dunno about those other three girls but he knew all the rest. And old homeless Jasper, used to chase 'im off when he got too friendly with the girls. Now he's nowhere to be seen.”   
The Doctor was chewing on his thumb thoughtfully. “I think I'll give Mr Leigh a visit this evening.” He said. “After I've dropped you back at your house.”   
“Oh no you don't. For one, you promised Betty that you would keep an eye on the girls tonight. And there is no way you're going to that guys house without me. At night as well! You know you aren't immune to getting hurt? It's not just me that needs to be worried?”   
The Doctor chewed on his thumb with more vigour.  
“Betty? Oh bloody hell, you've not been talking to that daft cow have you?” Miss Hardy laughed. “S'pose she was crying and telling you about Jesus and the Virgin Mary?”  
“Yes, she was pretty upset.” Said Clara coldly. “Unlike some people.” She added under her breath.   
The Doctor looked between the two of them with the look of a rabbit caught in the headlights.   
“We'd better be leaving then, Clara?” He said, with a hint of pleading. With a last glare at Miss Hardy, Clara headed out the door with the Doctor following gratefully behind.   
Once they were outside Clara turned to look up at the Doctor.   
“You're not really going to that man's house tonight are you?” She crossed her arms over her chest. The Doctor considered her nervous, guarded stance.   
“You don't need to worry about me Clara, I can handle it. I've been handling it all on my own for years.” He gave her what he probably thought was a winning smile.   
“That's because you didn't have me.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “I can look after myself too but you wouldn't let me go off to this guys house on my own.”   
“Fine, since you made me agree to play babysitter tonight, I won't follow up on our one promising lead. Happy now?”   
“When you put it like that, not really.” She tugged on his arm and they headed back towards her house.   
“Come on, I'll make you some tea, since Miss Hardy didn't offer.”

Back at her house the Doctor stood awkwardly in her living room. She watched him from the door way, carrying two cups of tea. He hadn't noticed her yet. He picked up an old framed picture and studied it, then picked up each ornament on the shelf and examined that. He looked strangely out of place standing there with all her stuff. Too tall and angular surrounded by her squashy chairs and floral patterned curtains. He was looking all around as though he'd never been inside a woman's house before.   
She finally entered the room as he began perusing the books on her shelf. She set the mugs down and joined him at the bookshelf.   
“You've got quite a collection. Do you have trouble throwing things away?” He picked up Wuthering Heights and frowned at it.   
“I like books.” She took Wuthering Heights from him and put it back in it's place. “I'm a teacher. I teach English.”  
“I thought you worked for the police?”   
“No, that's you. You work for the police.” She looked at him incredulously.  
“Ah yes, that's right. Knew it was one of us.” He sat on her sofa and picked up the Edgar Allen Poe anthology that one of her coworkers had given her.   
Clara sat next to him and leaned back in her chair with a yawn. The Doctor flicked through the book and they both enjoyed the companionable silence. After a few minutes the Doctor lowered the book and turned to her.   
“You're not a Londoner.” He said suddenly.   
“Neither are you.” She sipped her tea.   
“Glasgow.” He said shortly. “But I tend to keep moving. Prefer not to stay too long in London. Bit of a dump.”   
“What, compared to Glasgow?” She snorted. The Doctor gave her a toothy grin. “I'm from Blackpool.”   
The Doctor pulled a face. “What's wrong with Blackpool!”  
“Could be worse. Have you ever been to Nottingham?”   
Clara laughed softly. She reached out and took the Poe anthology from him.   
“So lapsed Catholic? Why is that?” She asked.   
“You really are nosy aren't you?” He said, not unkindly.   
“I like to be in the know, yes.” She flicked through the book to 'The Murder at Rue Morgue'.   
“I was raised Catholic but my families all gone now. No one to get upset when I don't go to church. Haven't been since my Ma's funeral in '29.”  
“Is that why you don't want to go? Because your families all gone?”   
“No, I haven't wanted to go since the Great War.” He sipped his tea, perhaps so he didn't have to meet her eyes.   
“You fought in the war?” She asked softly. “That would make you, what, 50?”   
“52. You?” He looked at her then. She realised she wasn't going to get anymore out of him about the war.   
“30 next month.” It was her turn to sip tea to avoid looking at him.   
“But no children? You seem like the sort who'd want them. A teacher. A very bossy one. Perfect mother material.” He didn't seem to consider that what he had just said might be a bit tactless. Clara was starting to get used to that though.   
“If you want kids you need someone to have them with. And I don't. So, no kids.” She explained.   
“Well that's alright, you just need to find a man who doesn't mind being bossed around. I'm sure you'll find someone.” He said, patting her arm in an attempt to be comforting.   
“Don't you have any kids?” She asked, wanting to steer the conversation away from her. The Doctor's face was quite stony for a moment. He stood and walked back to the bookshelf.   
“No. No children.” He pulled down a book at random and began pretending to read it. Clara felt suddenly as tactless as he was. She knew she had struck a nerve. She looked back down at the book in her hand and started pretending to read as well. Just until the atmosphere got a little less awkward.   
After a few minutes the Doctor brought his book over to the sofa and sat back down.   
“Maybe the mystery kidnapper isn't a man?” Clara said idly, now actually reading instead of just pretending.   
“What makes you say that?” The Doctor said slowly. Clara lifted the book and pointed to an illustration of a great ape carrying a woman to the fireplace. “Ah, the Murder at Rue Morgue. The orangutan bit always bothers me. How on earth was I supposed to guess that?”   
Clara laughed. “Good point.” She said. She turned to grin at him. “What if our kidnapper is an escaped gorilla? Or a really crafty baboon? That would explain why my homeless friend said a monster got them.”   
“Yes, of course, it's the only explanation that makes sense.” The Doctor said dryly. He pulled a pocket watch from his inside pocket. “I should be going. Need to go and be off-putting to the sort of men that hire prostitutes.” He stood and headed for the door. Clara stood and hurried after him.   
“Wouldn't you like something to eat? I can make you some dinner before you go? I've got ingredients to make some stew.” She wasn't sure why she was trying to convince him to stay. She supposed it must be because even the company of an ill tempered old man was better than nothing. At least he seemed to enjoy literature.   
“I'll pick up some chips. I'm Scottish, we prefer our food fried.” He grinned again. “I'll pick you up tomorrow evening. We can go and pay Mr Leigh a visit.” He turned and headed out the door, leaving Clara alone, still clutching her book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey if you're reading this you could always leave me a quick review! ^_^


	5. The Red Herring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and the Doctor meet a pimp! Then the Doctor steals some stuff.

The Red Herring

17th October 1949

When the Doctor dropped by her house on Monday evening to pick her up, she could instantly tell that something was wrong. When she answered the door he was gnawing anxiously on his thumb. Clara locked the door and hurried down the steps towards him. She reached up and pulled his thumb away from his mouth, before he chewed his nail clean off.  
“What happened?” She asked sternly.  
“I- Clara...” He chewed on his finger. She pulled his hand away from his mouth again. “It's Betty. I saw her last night and she said I should drop by the church in the morning and she would bring as many of her friends along as she could, so I could talk to them.”  
Clara felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. “Please tell me you're just embarrassed because you had a meeting with a dozen prostitutes in a Catholic church?”  
“Ah, no. Although now you mention it that is quite a story.” He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lit two, before handing one to Clara. She was about to say that she didn't really smoke but she accepted it wordlessly and took an unsteady drag.  
“Betty didn't show up did she?” Clara said grimly.  
“No, she didn't.”  
“Any chance she slept in?”  
“That little red headed fellow said she comes every morning.” His expression was very dark. “I was supposed to be keeping an eye on her.”  
Clara suddenly felt very guilty. She had promised that girl, just the day before, that she would help her. And she had failed. Maybe she had even drawn attention to her? Maybe it was their fault that she had disappeared as well?  
“Well, that settles it. It's the pimp. That Ricky, right?” Clara puffed on the cigarette uneasily and blinked hard to keep from crying.  
“Could be.” The Doctor didn't look convinced.  
“Come on that's, what, five of the missing girls that all work for him? And Betty goes missing right after she told us about him! He wanted to shut her up.” Clara gripped the Doctors arm. It seemed so clear now. “And it would be easy for him to get the girls to go with him. He knows them!”  
“Hmm. Well we should at least get a look and see if he has any gold teeth. ” The Doctor dropped his half smoked cigarette on the floor and snuffed it out. “Only one way to settle it. Shall we head out?” He waved his notebook at her.  
Clara put her cigarette out and the two of them set out towards the suspects house. 

Ricky's house was in a particularly unpleasant area of London that had clearly been hit pretty hard in the war. His house looked quite ramshackle, with a broken window pane on the second floor and some loose rubble in the front garden. It put Clara on edge being there and she found herself drawing instinctively closer to the Doctor.  
“I don't know what you're so worried about.” The Doctor looked down at her out of the corner of his eye.  
“We're about to go into a very creepy looking house to talk to a pimp who might have killed seven people.” Clara looked up at the Doctor. “How am I supposed to be feeling?”  
“Well for starters it's probably nine people. And for another, I really don't think you need to be scared. It won't be him doing it.”  
“Sorry, what makes you think that? All the evidence we have makes him the main suspect, surely? What are you not telling me?” Clara turned to face him fully. She was starting to get annoyed by his lack of communication.  
“It won't be him Clara. It's too obvious. What's his motive? Why pick girls he has a direct connection to? If he was so stupid how would he have managed to get away with it for a whole month?” The Doctor said exasperatedly. “It's just a red herring Clara!”  
“A red herring? Doctor, this isn't a story, it's real girls going missing!” Clara snapped.  
A man over the road shouted and kicked a glass bottle. It hit a wall and shattered. Raucous laughter echoed up and down the street. There were several very well built men gathered at the end of the road, seemingly watching them.  
Clara reached out and grabbed the Doctor's hand. He seemed startled by it, but he didn't let go. He cleared his throat.  
“Shall we go inside then? I'm not feeling too welcome out here.” He croaked. Clara nodded and the Doctor knocked on the door. After a few moments Clara heard the sound of several locks being undone and what sounded like a very large dog barking. She squeezed the Doctor's hand a little tighter.  
The door swung open to reveal a man. Not a particularly intimidating looking man. He was shorter than the Doctor and just as lean. His hair appeared to be receding but he'd cut it very short and he wore a pair of round glasses. Behind him was large, slobbering bloodhound that seemed very eager to get out of the house, perhaps so it could drool on them.  
“Calm down Lucifer!” The man said cheerfully. The dog sat obediently and gazed up at the pair of them, drooling. One of the men out in the street started calling out to her. He let out a wolf whistle. Clara suddenly decided that she would much rather be inside the house.  
The Doctor quickly flashed his I.D to the man in the house. “Richard Leigh? Could we come in?” He asked. He squeezed Clara's hand.  
“Oh, so now the police are interested? What changed?” He looked unimpressed. He removed his glasses and began to clean them. His hands were covered in oily smudges, which he smeared on his shirt as he cleaned his glasses.  
“We decided to get off our arses and do something, so could we please come in?” Clara said hurriedly. The time for pleasantries was over. The man laughed and ushered them into his hallway, before shutting the door. He fastened one of the locks but left the rest.  
“You can go and sit in the living room. Don't let Lucifer go climbing all over you. He thinks he's a French poodle or something, but he'll squash you if you let him up.”  
Clara finally released the Doctor's hand and they went through the first door into the living room. They sat side by side on the worn sofa and the dog came and rested his head on the Doctor's knee, where he started to drool all over his trousers. The Doctor scratched his head absentmindedly.  
The man came back in, wiping his oily hands on a dirty cloth. “Sorry, I was fixing up the bike when you came over. I suppose you're here about my girls?”  
“Yes, Richard Leigh, I presume? By my count five of your girls have gone missing now. Bit of a coincidence?” The Doctor raised his eyebrows.  
“Oh sure, yeah. I've been kidnapping my own girls, because I hate money and I want the police to come and arrest me as soon as they can.” Ricky said flippantly. He sat in the armchair and propped one leg up on the footstool. “Hang on, five? Only four of my girls are missing.”  
The Doctor looked at Clara for assistance. “I'm sorry, but we think Betty Kessler went missing last night.” Clara said. “She didn't show up to meet with Inspector Smith this morning.”  
Ricky pulled his glasses off again and rubbed his face. “You'd better be here to tell me that you know who's doing this. I've been to the police station to report all of them missing and each time I get sent away by that idiot boy. He says girls go wandering off all the time, like he knows a damn thing about it!”  
“Let me guess, Constable Stokes?” Clara said drily.  
“Yeah that's the one.”  
The Doctor gave Clara a meaningful look.  
“So this constable has had multiple girls reported missing to him?” He said. “But he hasn't filed any reports? That's either a rubbish policeman-”  
“Or a guilty one.” Clara interrupted. “God, I knew I hated that guy.”  
“You guys think it's an inside job? Sounds a little far fetched.” Ricky scratched his stubbly chin thoughtfully. Clara thought he seemed surprisingly nice for a pimp. “I think you want to look into a few local low-lives. I know some guys who definitely seem the sort.”  
The Doctor leaned forward with interest. The dog huffed as his head got pushed off the Doctor's knee. “Anyone in particular?” He got out his notepad and pen in preparation.  
“There's old Kill-crazy. I mean you don't pick up a nickname like that for nothing.” Ricky laughed a little, but then sighed.  
“Indeed you don't.” The Doctor agreed. “I'll probably be needing actual names though. And perhaps some descriptions? It might be a little hard to track down 'Kill-crazy'.”  
“Oh boy, I wish it was hard to track him down. Seem to see the guy everywhere. That's what's got me suspicious. He hangs around the girls too much.”  
“What's his real name?” Clara asked, since she could tell the Doctor was growing impatient at her side. He'd started chewing on his thumb again.  
“Max Killian. Tall skinny fella, mutton chops. Looks sorta like the kind of guy who'd have the nickname 'Kill-crazy.'” Ricky said. The Doctor noted this down. She saw him underline the word 'Kill-crazy'.  
“There's Gold Jonny as well. I've seen him skulking round. He acts real nice but I know he's a little weasel. Don't trust him one bit.” Ricky scratched his dog behind the ears as he spoke.  
“Gold? Where did he get a nickname like that?” Clara asked, her interest piqued.  
“Oh yeah, that'd be the gold teeth. He spent all sorts of money on those.”  
“A man with gold teeth, you say?” The Doctor gave Clara a shark-like grin. “Now we're getting somewhere, Miss Oswald.”  
“You think it might be him?” Ricky sat up sharply. He suddenly looked a lot more threatening than he had before. His expression was murderous. “That little weasel, I'll cut his fucking balls off!” he growled.  
“Easy there, there's a lady present!” The Doctor admonished. Clara rolled her eyes.  
“Maybe you should try to put off the castration? Might get in the way of the investigation.” Clara said lightly. Ricky relaxed a little, but he still looked angry.  
“I'll lay off him, but you make sure you nail him to the wall if he's guilty. Or I will.” He said darkly.  
Clara and the Doctor headed out, after Clara had indulged in a few cuddles with the soppy bloodhound and they had gotten some full descriptions for 'Kill-crazy' and the man with the gold teeth. Unfortunately, Ricky couldn't come up with addresses for either of them.  
“So, what do you think, Constable Stokes or Gold Jonny?” Clara asked as they rushed to leave the area around Ricky's house. The leering men appeared to have gone elsewhere, but the Doctor clearly didn't want to stick in the area longer than they had to.  
“Well, Mr Gold teeth seems like the most likely candidate, but a visit to the station would be a good idea. We can investigate Stokes and I'll find an address and any criminal record for 'Gold Jonny'.” The Doctor pulled on Clara's arm to speed her up when he spotted a group of large men loitering down a side street.  
“Good plan.” Clara said. “We can make it there by seven I think.”  
“Ah, no. You're going home. I'll head to the station while you're at work tomorrow.”  
“I don't think so.” Clara said with a breezy laugh. “I'm coming with you, obviously!”  
“Clara, I could be there for a few hours looking this fellow up, and as helpful as you've been I doubt they'll let you come in the back with me. Come by the station after you've finished work.” They slowed their pace as they got to a more well lit area.  
“Fine, I'll be there around 4.” 

18th October 1949

Clara ran along the road, holding a newspaper above her head to protect her from the rain. She burst through the door into the police station, startling a woman sitting in the waiting room and dripping all over the floor. She pulled the newspaper off of her head and stuffed it's soggy remains into a waste bin. It hadn't done much to protect her hair, which had lost it's neat style as the hairspray washed out. She now looked like a drowned rat.  
Along the corridor a door opened and the Doctor's head peeked around it surreptitiously. He spotted her and waved her over, glancing around the station shiftily. Clara hurried over and ducked around the door to join him in what turned out to be a storage room full of shelves and filling cabinets. The Doctor had arranged a stack of files on a small desk and had a large map open covered with arrows and crosses drawn on in red pen.  
“You've been busy.” Clara remarked picking up one of the folders to examine it. The Doctor batted it out of her hand.  
“Don't do that! You're all wet! How did you get here? Did you swim?” The Doctor took out a handkerchief and tried to dry her hair off by rubbing at it.  
“It's raining.” She said. The Doctor started to dab at her face with the handkerchief, staining it red from her lipstick. “Stop that!” She snapped. The Doctor lowered his hand.  
“You're right, it's fine. You look fine.” The Doctor quickly turned back towards his stack of files. Clara grumbled and discarded her sodden coat over the back of a chair.  
“What do you have here then?” Clara pulled her wet hair out of her face and stepped closer to the table.  
“I have an address for John Price and his gold teeth. I also have his criminal records.” The Doctor lifted a thick folder and waved it at her. “Quite an impressive picture it paints. His mother must be proud.”  
Clara took the folder and flicked through a few pages. “Wow, that is impressive. Assault, theft, indecent exposure! Tax evasion...”  
“I also have a folder for Mr Crazy, first name Kill. Not as impressive as you would expect considering his nickname.” He handed Clara another, much smaller folder. Clara found that it contained only a couple of counts of soliciting and a couple more for being drunk and disorderly.  
“Doesn't mean it's not him. He could just be smart enough to not get caught.” Said Clara. The Doctor raised his eyebrows.  
“Very clever Miss Oswald, and normally I would agree. However, with a nickname like Kill-crazy, I think we can eliminate the possibility that he's a criminal genius.”  
Clara laughed and gave him back the folder. “Okay, good point. What about Stokes?”  
The Doctor looked at her thoughtfully. “Stokes is a little harder to pin down. He's an officer of the law, so we have to tread carefully.” His face was very serious, but then suddenly it broke out into a mischievous grin. “Although I did manage to procure his records. Illegal, strictly speaking...” He looked at Clara, waiting for her approval.  
“Couldn't you get fired for that?” Clara said with concern. The Doctor shrugged.  
“I wouldn't worry about it.” He said. He folded the map and started to stack all the folders he had collected. “Have you got room for these in your bag?”  
“That's a lot of folders.” Clara picked up one of the folders and looked inside. All she found were several recent reports about criminal damage to people's gardens. She picked up another that held the details of some local break-ins over the last month. “What do these have to do with anything?”  
“You never know. “ The Doctor handed Clara the rest of the folders and she wrestled them into her bag.  
“Alright, now how about these?” He picked up a stack of assorted items that had been sitting under the table. Clara raised an eyebrow.  
“What's all that for?” She asked.  
“Might need it.” He took her bag and shifted the folders around, before starting to wedge the other stuff in as well. “Handcuffs, torches,tape recorders.” He held up a small silver whistle. “Whistles. Useful stuff.”  
“Doctor, are you stealing from a police station?” Clara wasn't sure if she was horrified or impressed by the possibility.  
“Don't worry about it Clara. You worry too much. It's bad for your health.” The Doctor gave up on wedging the tape recorders into her bag and instead took off his jacket and draped it over them. “We'd better head out. Need to look over all of this.”  
“So we aren't going to this 'Gold Jonny's' house?” Clara paused at the door and turned back to the Doctor. He was fidgeting with his jacket trying to make sure he had fully concealed all of the police equipment. Clara was now pretty certain that he didn't have permission to take any of it. It was an oddly thrilling thought.  
“Not yet. I've had a not insignificant number of witnesses mention this man now, but it's not enough for me to be sure.” The Doctor stepped past her and pushed open the door. “Come on, quickly.” He whispered. He slunk out of the room and walked briskly towards the reception area, with Clara trotting behind him to keep up.  
“Now see here, I don't care 'ow busy you are! Somebodies ripped up me wife's prize pumpkins! It's a conspiracy, by them WI ladies! They're jealous!” A stout little bespectacled man was stood at the front desk, shouting and pontificating. It was an almost coincidentally convenient cover for the her and the Doctor to leave unnoticed that it made her wonder if the Doctor might have planned it.  
“Sir, please-” The nervous receptionist said weakly.  
“No, you ain't fobbing me off, I want justice! I'm not the only one who's had this! Neighbour's herb garden got tore up too! What are you gonna do about it?” The man shouted. The Doctor took his opportunity to slip out the door. Clara darted out as well, only to bump into him in the entranceway. “Oof! What are you doing?” She asked.  
The Doctor glanced back at her, then extended his hand to point at someone standing on the other side of the road. “We've met her.” He said, uncertainly. Clara squinted through the gloom. She saw a well built young woman with her long hair hanging limp and bedraggled from the rain.  
“Yes, we talked to her. It was... Harris? No Hardy!”  
The Doctor suddenly strode out into the road, straight over to where Miss Hardy was standing. Clara had to run to match his pace. Miss Hardy looked up as they approached and scowled at the pair of them.  
“You bloody police! I don't wanna talk to you again!” She turned and began to hurry off down the street. Clara picked up her pace and slipped past the Doctor to stop her.  
“Wait! What are you doing at the police station? Did something happen?” Clara said, grabbing her arm to slow her down. She stopped and wrenched her arm away.  
“What? Din't he tell you? While he” She pointed fiercely to the Doctor, “was s'posed to be watching out for us, Betty got... It got her!” Her eyes were wild and her make-up was dripping down her face. She looked quite unhinged, a stark contrast to her detached attitude the last time they had met.  
“You came to report Betty missing? What did they say?” Clara asked urgently. She still couldn't shake her hunch that constable Stokes was involved somehow.  
“They don't care! They don't care about none of us! And neither does he!” She pointed even more aggressively at the Doctor.  
“That's not true! He's really trying to help. Please, why don't you come with us and tell us what you saw? I know the local police don't seem interested but we're actually doing something. Please, it could really help.” Clara had managed to get hold of her arm again, just in case she tried to storm off again. She seemed to be reconsidering though. She relaxed a little in Clara's grip, looking almost defeated.  
“You can't do anything. This isn't what you think it is. I don't reckon anyone could stop it.” She spoke so softly that Clara almost couldn't hear her. She sounded terrified.  
“Let's go inside.” The Doctor spoke up suddenly. He pointed towards a small tea shop along the road that looked almost empty. He ushered the two of them towards the cafe and Clara squeezed Miss Hardy's arm reassuringly. Nothing could stop it? The words had given her a horrible leaden feeling in her stomach. What did Miss Hardy know that they didn't?


	6. The Lead

The Lead

Miss Hardy was shivering slightly in her chair, cradling her cup of tea and staring into it as though it might hold some solution to all her problems. Clara glanced at the Doctor, who was staring just as intently at Miss Hardy. He had removed his wet jacket to reveal a crisp white shirt and waistcoat and his hair was wet from the rain. Clara thought he looked a little handsome like that, less buttoned up than usual. Water dripped off the end of his nose and into his tea.   
Clara cleared her throat and the Doctor seemed to take the hint.   
“So, Miss Hardy, why don't you start from the beginning?” He said.  
She frowned deeply at her cup of tea. “Look, I already talked to the police and they said I was talking rubbish. Said I was being hysterical and I shouldn't be goin' in there drunk! Well I'm not drunk and I'm not hysterical!” She straightened up and glared at the Doctor defiantly, as though he was the one who had insulted her.  
“Yes, I'm sure you aren't hysterical.” The Doctor said delicately. Clara noticed that he didn't choose to comment on whether or not she was drunk. “Now why don't you tell us what you saw, instead of shouting at me for no reason?” Miss Hardy huffed in irritation and stirred her tea. Clara and the Doctor watched intently while she added sugar. She didn't speak for several long moments. Clara was beginning to suspect that she might be enjoying the attention.  
“Well, I went out to work, I saw you. You was skulking around and putting everyone off so I went off to get away from you. I saw Betty, she was talking to some man, going off down some alley. I was gonna leave her to it, 'cos she don't need me getting in the way when she's working. She don't make much as it is.” She paused to drink her tea and left her subtle insult hanging for a few moments. “But then I thought about you two going on and on about being careful and all that bloody rubbish. So I went and had a little look down there to see what was going on.” She hesitated. “You won't believe me though. What I saw...”  
“Go on.” The Doctor pressed.  
“It was like... A ghost? Or a shadow, but real? I don't know what to tell you! I don't know what it was.”  
Clara let out a short bark of laughter. She was starting to feel increasingly frustrated by this unpleasant woman. “You know this isn't a joke? People are missing, you shouldn't be wasting our time.” The Doctor laid his hand on her arm, keeping his eyes fixed on Miss Hardy's face.   
“Then what happened?” He asked her.   
“Doctor-” Clara started irritably. The Doctor held his hand up, then gestured for Miss Hardy to continue.   
“This thing, the ghost or whatever, come out from somewhere, and Betty was just watchin' it, she din't run away. She was crying I think.” She shuddered and for a moment she looked so genuinely distressed that Clara almost found herself believing the story. “The man, he backed off sharpish. Then this thing... It were like a big bird or something, but it were like smoke as well. And it went close to her. And then she just, fell on the ground. She was... I think she was dead.” She stared down at her tea cup.   
“What happened after that? Did you get a good look at the man?” The Doctor's expression was very serious.   
“I ran off after that. I didn't want that thing seeing me. I didn't see the feller properly. Little feller.”   
“Any chance you saw his face? His teeth?” The Doctor pressed.   
“No, I din't see his teeth. What's that got to do with anything? I tell you I saw a bleeding ghost and you start asking me about teeth?” She said irritably.   
“No, sorry, but you can't talk to him like that! You tell us some ridiculous story about a bloody ghost bird killing someone, then you act like he's the one saying something stupid?” Clara said, barely containing her anger. “Doctor, This is a waste of time. She's not going to help us.”   
“Clara.” The Doctor said softly.  
“No. No I'm going home. You can come and get me when we're doing something constructive.”  
Clara stood and walked out into the rain. 

Clara sat in her living room with the curtains drawn tight and her radio on. Through the music she could hear the rain still coming down hard outside. All the police files from her bag had been removed and laid out on her kitchen table. She had briefly looked them over but she had been feeling so frustrated after getting back from talking to Miss Hardy that she found she couldn't concentrate.   
What annoyed her the most was that she was sure Miss Hardy wasn't crazy, so why was she saying something that was obviously not possible? The only thing Clara could think was that she must have been getting some sort of enjoyment out of wasting their time. The thought irritated Clara no end.   
Edith Piaf was warbling out of the speaker of her radio and she was chewing unenthusiastically on a corned beef sandwich when there was a knock at her door. She stood and made her way down the hall, opening the door a crack to look outside. She was pretty certain that she already knew who was there but she was cautious nonetheless.   
The Doctor was standing in the doorway, grumpy and bedraggled. He was soaked through from the rain, still carrying the police equipment wrapped in his jacket.   
“It's raining.” He said. Clara struggled to contain the grin that spread across her face.   
“What, no umbrella in your pocket? I thought you had everything?” He ran his hand through his wet hair and Clara let herself laugh. “Come on, I've got the wood-burner going, you'll dry off eventually.” Clara pulled him into the house, even as he glumly protested.   
“Clara, I can't come in here now, you're in your nightclothes.” He spluttered.   
Clara looked down and remembered that she had indeed changed into her nightclothes after she got home so that she could hang her wet clothes in front of the fire.   
“I won't tell anyone. Wouldn't want anyone to think you were up to anything untoward, right?” Clara laughed again at his unimpressed expression. “I've got your things anyway. All your folders. You wanted them back didn't you?”   
She led him to her kitchen and showed him the folders spread out on the table.   
“Took a look at them?” He raised his eyebrows, almost accusingly.   
“A quick one. I couldn't really concentrate.” She took the kettle off the stove and filled it with water. “Tea?” The Doctor nodded his confirmation and began to examine the evidence laid out on the table. He took his notebook from his pocket and buried his nose in it while Clara made tea.   
“So I finished the interview on my own. Think I've picked up a few things from you. She only shouted at me the once.” The Doctor peeked over the top of his notebook with a smile in his eyes.  
“She shouted at you? She's got some bloody nerve.” Clara said dismissively. The Doctor set his notebook down and studied her face intently.   
“What makes you say that?” The Doctor asked. Clara huffed in annoyance.  
“We try to help her and she spins some ridiculous story about monsters or ghosts or whatever rubbish she was saying. All those missing people and she's wasting our time!” Clara put the mugs down on the side with enough force that the sound made the Doctor flinch.   
He didn't speak for several minutes, while Clara heated the kettle for the tea. Once the tea was made she carefully put his mug on the table, beside a police folder detailing the disappearance of Lilly Woodhouse, the only missing girl the police had taken an interest in. The Doctor was reading through it and chewing on his thumb thoughtfully.   
“So what do you think?” Clara asked in a soft voice. The Doctor looked up at her, almost as though he had forgotten she was there.   
“About what?”   
“The case. Is it this guy with the gold teeth?” She took a seat at the table but the Doctor remained standing, staring blankly at the folders.   
“Maybe.” He didn't seem inclined to elaborate.   
“Come on, come in the living room. No, leave that out here.” She took several folders out of his hand and handed him his cup of tea instead. “You need to dry off and this is just distracting you.”   
The Doctor followed her into the living room, glancing back longingly at the stack of evidence on her kitchen table. He sat in front of the wood burning stove and resumed his blank staring, though this time his gaze was fixed on the fire.  
“Doctor.” He looked up at her. The shadows thrown by the fire made the lines on his face stand out. He looked older and more harsh “What she said, about Betty... That she was dead. Do you think that was true?”   
The Doctor took a deep breath and looked back at the fire. She knew he was avoiding her gaze. She was sure he did that when he was about to lie. Or at least keep something back.   
“I don't know.” He said finally.   
“I didn't ask what you know, I asked what you thought.” She said. The Doctor remained silent, staring into the fire. “Look at me.”  
He looked up at her reluctantly. “I think it was true. I don't think we'll find these girls alive.”   
Clara nodded and looked away. She could feel tears stinging her eyes. The Doctor thought they were all dead.   
She could remember Nancy, twelve years old, reading aloud in class, stumbling over the bigger words but pushing on anyway. Thirteen years old, coming into school with a red, tear stained face after her parent's death, how she had hugged Clara when they had spoken after class. How hard she worked after that, to keep herself together. How could she be dead?   
And Betty, scared but still going out at night because she couldn't afford not to. Watching out for all the other girls. Clara sniffed and rubbed at her eyes.   
“We said we'd help Betty. She was scared.” She said shakily.   
“You can't save everyone Clara. You can't protect the whole world on your own.” She looked up and met the Doctor's eyes. She was surprised to see that he looked quite stricken by her tears.   
“We should have done more. I should have come with you. You couldn't watch them all on your own.”   
“I wouldn't allow you to come with me for something as dangerous as that. It could have been you that got killed.”  
They sat in silence for a long time, both lost in thought. The Doctor drank his tea and kept staring at the fire as it grew dimmer.   
After several long silent minutes he sighed and set his empty teacup on the table. He stood and went to her bookshelf and picked up the framed photograph that sat there. A photo of a soldier, in his full uniform, a proud smile on his face.   
“Who's the soldier?” The Doctor asked.   
“Danny. He was my fiancé.” Clara looked down at the cold tea sitting in the bottom of her cup. She had been so pleased when the Doctor had shown up that evening, it was strange how miserable she felt now.   
“He died in the war.” The Doctor said, nodding in understanding. He returned the picture to its place on the bookshelf.   
“No. No he didn't.” Clara met the Doctor's eyes. He looked incredibly uncomfortable about the conversation they were having, but he didn't look away. “He came back from the war. It was hard on him but we got through. Then... It was such a stupid thing. An accident. One minute he was going to buy eggs, then he stepped into the road and he was dead. Car hit him. Made it through the war and then that happened.” She blinked back her tears. She'd already cried enough in the last few years. More crying wouldn't do much more than make the Doctor even more uncomfortable.   
“I was married once you know.” The Doctor said unexpectedly. His tone was light. “Fabulous woman. Adventurous, clever. Reckless.” He looked at Clara meaningfully.   
“You're a widower?” She frowned at that information. She couldn't imagine the Doctor being married. She supposed if his wife died that would explain why he had no children. Why the question had affected him so much.   
“Yes. 18 years in fact.”   
“18 years? But you didn't remarry?”   
The Doctor laughed. “It's pretty amazing I found one woman who wanted to marry me. I'm still convinced she was quite mad.” Clara smiled at him sadly. She could tell the conversation was one he would prefer not to have. “I should go. Got things to be doing. A lot of facts need piecing together.”   
“Don't be daft. It's raining buckets and it's late. You can just sleep here on the sofa. It looks just about big enough for you.” Clara stood and went across the room to the cupboard where she kept her spare bedding.   
“Clara-”   
“No, it's not safe outside at this hour. You'll sleep here. I have to be out at seven tomorrow morning so you'll need to be up.” She dumped the blanket and pillow in his arms and offered no more room for disagreement.   
She took the empty teacups into the kitchen and rinsed them. As she went to return to the living room she glanced over the folders that were laid out on the table. One of them caught her eye. She picked it up and took it with her. The Doctor was sat on the sofa, removing his damp shoes.   
“Did you see this.” She held the folder up for him.   
“A police file? I've seen lot's of police files Clara.” The Doctor said.  
“This is from a witness. From when Lilly Woodhouse went missing. Says they saw a big black shadow corner her.” Clara frowned at him. How could two people tell the same strange story?   
“Maybe it did.” The Doctor said flippantly. “Perhaps this is not a mystery. Perhaps it's a ghost story.”  
“It's not a story.” Clara said crossly. “And I don't believe in ghosts.”   
“No, me neither.” The Doctor removed his waistcoat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His arms looked surprisingly strong considering how lean he was.   
“So how do you explain this?” She waved the folder at him.   
“It can't be explained. Not yet anyway.”   
“So you're saying it's something supernatural?” Clara said incredulously.   
The Doctor laughed. “What is supernatural Clara? Just a word idiots use to describe things we don't understand. To the ancient Greeks lightning was the work of the gods. To us, something we can't explain is passed off as a raving lunatic or a ghost.”   
Clara leaned against the door frame. “Idiots?” she asked pointedly. The Doctor ignored her.   
“Supernatural is a word we use to describe things we don't understand yet. Science is what we call those things when we finally understand them.”  
“So you believe what Miss Hardy said?” Clara gave him her most sceptical look.  
“I think she believed what she was saying.” He said. “Whether she understood what she saw is another matter.”  
They stared at one another, with only the sound of the rain to break the silence. Clara was about to speak again, when a sudden banging on her window made them both jump. Clara strode across the room and pulled back the curtains to see that the wind had blown a tree branch against the glass.   
““Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door - Only this and nothing more.”” The Doctor intoned.   
“Very funny.” Clara grumbled, setting the curtains back in place. “Time for bed. You'll have to be out by seven tomorrow.” She said in her firmest teacher voice. The Doctor pulled the blankets over himself and Clara headed towards her bedroom. “Goodnight.”   
“Goodnight Clara.” He said softly. She lingered in the doorway for a moment watching him get comfortable on her sofa, before turning out the light.


	7. The Twist

The Twist

19th October 1949

When Clara awoke the next day she found the Doctor was already up and making tea. She would have made a joke about him making himself at home but she felt too tired so she accepted her drink without comment. The Doctor seemed eager to get going. After he had drunk his tea and accepted a slice of bread and jam for his breakfast he hurried out the door with an armful of folders.   
Clara headed out for work feeling increasingly distracted. She couldn't stop thinking about things the Doctor had said the night before, about what was responsible for the disappearances. Was Miss Hardy telling the truth or was the Doctor just willing to believe anything? She found her mind drifting away while the class took turns reading aloud. She was distracted enough that she didn't correct any of her students more egregious mispronunciations and kept accidentally calling little Joanna Wood by her older sister's name.   
She was sure by the time the bell was rung for the end of school that her students probably thought she was going a bit mad. She hurried out after the weekly staff meeting that was sadly unavoidable, and waited outside for the Doctor. She had told him to come and pick her up at half four, but as the hour crept closer to five she found he had still not arrived. She felt a sense of unease take over her. She had been sure that having him stay the night would keep him safe, but what if something had happened to him on his way home that morning? She realised that she didn't even know where he was staying. There was no way for her to check on him.   
By half past five she made the decision to head home. It would start to grow dark soon and she didn't want to risk being outside when it did. If the Doctor got to the school and found she wasn't there, he knew where she lived.   
She arrived home and checked in with her landlady Mrs James. Mrs James informed her that she hadn't seen Clara's 'gentleman caller' since he left that morning. Clara felt a little embarrassed that her landlady suspected her and the Doctor of impropriety but she was starting to feel too anxious to care.  
By seven in the evening the sun was down and there was still no sign of the Doctor. Clara's mind began to cook up all sorts of horrible scenarios. Maybe he had gone to see John Price on his own and things had gone wrong? Maybe what Miss Hardy had said was true and some horrible shadow had killed him? Even though she knew it was crazy, the image wouldn't leave her.   
There was a knock at her door and she leapt up and ran down the hallway, ready to give the Doctor a stern telling off for scaring her. However, when she opened the door she found only Miss James standing there, still wearing her slippers.   
“Mrs James! Is everything okay?”   
“You've had a phone call dear. The police.” Mr James said. She gave Clara a cold look. “About your gentleman friend who was over last night.”  
“Oh, he called? Does he want me to go down to the station?” Clara felt relief wash over her. He must have gone without her to arrest the suspect. She was a little mad he hadn't involved her but she understood.   
“I would imagine he does dear. He's been arrested.” Mrs James pursed her lips and glared judgementally at Clara. Clara laughed and patted Mrs James on the arm.   
“No, Mrs James, The Doctor is a police officer. You must have misunderstood. Did he say whether they'd made any progress with the case?”   
Mrs James huffed and shrugged her arm off of her. “I may be old, Miss Oswald, but I can hear perfectly well. Sergeant King called and told me that they arrested this John Smith fellow and he had asked for them to call you instead of his solicitor.”  
Clara shook her head forcefully. Why would they arrest him? That didn't make any sense. She had only seen him a few hours ago. “What did they say? Did they say why they arrested him?”  
“Well whatever he told you was a lie for one thing. He's not a police officer. I suppose he chose that job so you'd be nice and impressed by him. It certainly seems to have worked.” Mrs James looked deeply scandalised by whatever it was she thought Clara and the Doctor had been up to the night before.   
Clara opened her mouth to respond. Whether to question Mrs James further or defend herself she wasn't sure. Ultimately she decided not to say anything at all and swung the door shut in her landlady's face. She walked dazedly into her living room and sank down onto the sofa where the Doctor had been sleeping just a few hours earlier.   
The Doctor wasn't a police officer at all. He had lied to her. Maybe he had lied about it all? A lot of things made more sense now. Why he had needed to seek her out for a statement when he could have asked Sergeant King. Why he had felt the need to be so covert at the police station. That he had even let her tag along with him at all, now she thought about it. For a real policeman she was sure that would be considered unprofessional.   
But why? Why had he lied to her? If he had just wanted to investigate the disappearances why didn't he just say that? She was already doing that herself!   
She suddenly felt quite sick. He had lied to her. What if he had lied because he was involved in all of this? She had let him stay right there in her house and she realised that she hadn't even really known who he was. Those things he had said, about being in the war and losing his faith, about his wife passing away, had they been lies too?   
She leapt up and went to the cupboard to get her coat and bag, then hurried out of her flat. She spotted Mrs James lingering in the foyer and sped up, out the door and into the street. 

Clara sat stiffly on the very edge of the hard wooden bench. The police receptionist shot her nervous glances every few minutes as she waited. She had been there around half an hour and had so far heard nothing. They hadn't told her exactly why the Doctor had been arrested, nor when she might be allowed to see him. Her knee bounced up and down with nervous energy. She wasn't sure if she would shout at the Doctor when she saw him or cry.   
Sergeant King emerged from a room along the hall. She stood immediately and walked to meet him halfway along the corridor.   
“Am I allowed to see him now?” She asked without any preamble. Sergeant King shook his head.   
“We'll need to interview you first. Find out what exactly he told you.” The Sergeant ushered her through into an interview room. She sat on the chair and kept her eyes fixed on her lap. She wasn't sure what she was going to say. Should she be completely honest?   
“Alright then Miss Oswald. Why don't we start with how you know Mr Smith?”  
Clara stared at her hands for a moment, lost in thought. “He's... My fiancé.” She straightened up and looked back at the Sergeant defiantly.   
“Please Miss Oswald, if you lie to me you could get yourself in trouble.” He said flatly. “If you'd said he was your father that might have been more believable.” He said, averting his eyes. Clara felt a stab of annoyance. Whatever the Doctor had been up to, she suddenly knew that she had to lie. Lie better anyway. At least the Doctor had been trying. The police hadn't been.   
“I met him about a week ago. When I talked to you near Euston Station. He asked me about my friend that disappeared. Seemed a lot more interested than you were.” She said coldly.   
Sergeant King ignored this and pressed on. “Did Mr Smith tell you that he was a police officer? Did he show you a badge?”   
“No.” Clara replied without hesitation.   
“Miss Oswald, I repeat that you would be unwise to lie to me.” Sergeant King kept his eyes fixed on her, boring into her.   
“And I repeat, Mr Smith did not tell me he was a police officer. We were both interested in the disappearances, both looking into them since the police weren't doing anything. Just concerned citizens. You certainly gave me reason to be concerned.” Clara made sure to sound accusatory, hoping she might turn this all around on him.   
“Did Mr Smith show you any classified police files?” Sergeant Smith tried doggedly.   
“Where would he get those from?” Clara asked.   
“There were some files missing from the station, we believe he might have broken in and stolen them.”   
“Well I didn't see any. How exactly would he have broken in? Surely it wouldn't be possible to steal from a police station.” Clara raised her eyebrows at him. This was good. They didn't know for sure that he had the files, or how he might have gotten them. Even better they clearly didn't suspect that she was also involved.   
“Did Mr Smith share any information about Lilly Woodhouse's disappearance? Information he might have gotten from a police source? Or elsewhere?” The way the Sergeant said elsewhere was a little odd. She realised the Sergeant was suspicious of the Doctor being involved somehow. It made her a little queasy. Maybe she was wrong to lie for him?   
“We really weren't focused on that. The police were already looking into it. We were more worried about all the other girls you weren't bothering with.”  
“So that's a no?”   
“No, he didn't share anything like that with me. And if you're implying he might have been involved in her disappearance then you are really barking up the wrong tree.” She shook her head and laughed bitterly at him.   
“I suppose you think we should be going after John Price?” He asked. Clara kept her expression neutral. She was in the lions den now, she realised, and betraying anything could get her in trouble as well as the Doctor.   
“John Price? We did hear that name around. Do you think it was him?” She asked, her voice deliberately level. The Sergeant stared her down for several long seconds. She made sure not to blink.   
“John Price was found dead this morning. When we arrived we found Mr Smith at the scene. He was arrested for impersonating a police officer.” Sergeant King turned and picked up an evidence bag. She saw that it contained the police ID the Doctor had shown her when they first met. “Quite a good forgery. Can you honestly tell me that you have never seen this before?”   
“No I haven't seen it.” Clara made sure to meet his eyes.   
“Did you speak to a Richard Leigh?” he asked.   
Clara hesitated. She wasn't sure where this was going, so there was no way for her to know what she ought to say. “Yes, we did.”  
“Did you speak about John Price with Mr Leigh?” He pressed. He obviously thought he was getting somewhere.   
“Yes. He came up. Mr Leigh told us about him actually. I'm sure that's why the d-” She mentally shook herself. It would seem really odd for her to refer to him as the Doctor. Thinking about it now she realised it was very strange that she always thought of him as such. “Uh, Mr Smith was there.”  
“Well Miss Oswald. You might have indirectly gotten a man killed.”   
Clara deflated in her chair. Of course, Ricky must have gone after Gold Jonny himself after they put the idea in his head that he was guilty. Sergeant King looked a little triumphant that he had finally managed to get to her.   
“I think that will be all. I'll see if you can visit with Mr Smith now. You can take a seat in the waiting room.” 

It was getting very late by the time someone led her through to see The Doctor and Clara was feeling hungry, tired and above all, irritable. When they let her in she was met with the sight of the Doctor dressed only in his white shirt and trousers, with his shoes missing and his hair uncombed.  
She sat opposite him and waited for them to be left alone. Once the policeman had left the room her neutral expression faded. She glowered at him.  
“You lied to me.” Her voice came out as a dangerous hiss.   
The Doctor slowly met her eyes. His expression was unreadable. “Well, it's a lot easier to get people to help you if they think you're in a position of power. No one listens to some madman wandering about asking about missing prostitutes.”  
“No. You should have been honest with me. Once I started helping you, you should have told me the truth. You lied to me and you made me an accessory. You stole from a police station and you let me be involved in that!” Clara's voice rose. She was building up a head of steam now. She had never felt so betrayed.   
“Oh come on Clara, you knew that taking that stuff from the station wasn't above board!” He laughed a little.   
“Don't you laugh at me!” She snapped. “You lie to me, you do illegal things and don't tell me and then you laugh at me for being so stupid that I believed you? This is not my fault, you did this. You lied and now you're paying for it.”   
The Doctor suddenly looked quite concerned. The amusement had faded from his face, as well as the colour.   
“So you told them.” He said weakly. “Did you tell them about the police files?”   
Clara glared at him for a moment. “No. I lied for you. No idea why, I must be really stupid.” The Doctor relaxed visibly. “Why did you do this?”  
“I was in the area. Heard about a couple of disappearances. And something else. That black shadow Miss Hardy told us about. I've heard things like that before. I wanted to dig a little deeper to see if there was any truth to it. It's much easier to get information if people think you're a police officer.”  
“God, you didn't really care about those girls at all, did you? This is just some game isn't it? A little murder mystery with a ghost thrown in? I can't believe I helped you!” Clara stormed, tears in her eyes.   
“Clara...” He looked almost upset.   
“Well it's over now. John Price is dead. Looks like Ricky killed him. If he was guilty then I guess that's it settled. We probably won't find out what really happened now. Those girls are just gone.”   
The Doctor was shaking his head slightly as she spoke, chewing on a finger.   
“I don't think so Clara. The police think Ricky killed him, but it's not the truth. I saw the body. Not a scratch on him. Just dead, like he dropped dead spontaneously. Don't you think that if it was Ricky it would have been a little messier?” The Doctor leaned forward conspiratorially, as though he expected her to get carried away with the intrigue all over again.   
“Do you hear yourself? This isn't a a trip to the pictures or a novel. This is real life. People are dead and it wasn't some supernatural monster that killed them.” Clara hissed.   
“This isn't over Clara. People are in danger.” The Doctor said urgently.   
“And you care do you?” She sneered. “I don't believe that.”   
The Doctor looked down at his hands. “Please, be careful Clara.” he whispered.   
“Yeah. Yeah, I'll be very careful.” She felt her tears running down her face now and she didn't bother to wipe them away. “I'll pay your bail if you promise to stay away from me. Just, go back wherever you bloody came from and you don't come back here.”   
Clara stood and walked to the door. She didn't look back as the Doctor called out to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the words of M. Night Shyamalan, What a twist!


	8. The Mysterious Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit is that a monster?

The Mysterious Beast

28th October 1949

Clara stared blankly out of her classroom window. The girls of class 8C were doing silent reading, just to give Clara a little peace and quiet. She had possibly been making her classes do a little too much reading over the last week. She was just too distracted to spend time trying to get a class of 15 year old girls to appreciate Jane Austen. Outside the weather was horribly windy, leaves were stirring up all over and blowing across the playground. A crow flying overhead seemed to struggle as it was tossed about.   
It had been over a week now since Clara had seen the Doctor. It seemed he had done as he was told and gone back to wherever he came from. Glasgow maybe? Clara wasn't sure if she could trust anything he told her. None of the missing girls had been found but it seemed that the culprit had been John Price. Clara had met with Miss Hardy at the weekend. She had told her that no more girls had gone missing since John Price had died before slamming the door in her face.   
And that was the end of it. Except it didn't feel that way, not to Clara. Perhaps she was guilty of seeing the whole situation as a story as much as the Doctor was. It was just such a disappointing ending. Se felt no resolution; she still didn't know what had happened to Nancy; there would be no funeral. The Doctor was just gone. She felt very foolish admitting it to herself but she had rather liked the Doctor. He was a peculiar, tactless old man, but she felt like they had a lot in common nonetheless.   
The bell rang for the end of the day and Clara was startled out of her thoughts.   
“Okay girls, make sure you've all finished the chapter by tomorrow!” Clara called as the girls scurried out of the door without looking back. Clara stood tiredly and packed her bags up, before heading out to the staffroom. Mr Armitage was sitting at his desk with a fresh cup of tea for her.   
“Clara!” He smiled at her kindly and pushed the cup of tea towards her. He clearly knew something was wrong but he didn't ask her about it. She liked that about him. She really didn't want to have an emotional discussion with her boss. Clara took a seat and pulled out some of her papers.   
“So I had a look over some of the essays your top class wrote. The, uh, Poe essays.” He looked up at her over the top of his glasses. Clara met his gaze. “Very good.” he conceded. She was sure he was just saying it to cheer her up. Even so, it worked.   
After about half an hour in a companionable silence, spent finishing off a few lesson plans, Clara headed out into the windy street. Her scarf billowed out around her so she stuffed it into her coat and huddled against the cold.   
She turned down onto Lexington street and rifled in her bag. The last couple of weeks she had been dropping off a sandwich for Barnabas, the homeless man who slept in the alleyway near her house. Even if he was drunk and probably crazy, he was also hungry and cold. She pulled out the cheese and onion sandwich she had made for him that morning and headed down the alley.   
“Barnabas?” She called, checking behind a dustbin. “Cheese and onion today! Your favourite, right? Not a fan personally. Always makes your breath smell. 'Spose you aren't too bothered...” She trailed off as she realised that Barnabas was nowhere to be found. That was odd since she came down there the same time everyday and he was always there. “Barnabas?”  
“What you looking for Barney for?” A tall, worn, old man with a hangdog expression sidled down the alleyway. He was as shabby as Barnabas, though he looked in better health. “Don't tell me he was telling the truth when he went on about that long lost daughter?” He looked her up and down sceptically.   
“No, I'm not his daughter. I just bring him sandwiches sometimes. Do you know where he is?”   
“Ain't seen him since last night. I was just looking around for him.” The man looked a little worried and Clara had to admit she was feeling a little worried too.   
“Where do you think he might have gone?” Clara asked.  
“Well... I was a bit worried he might have gone down near the river and fallen in.” The man said sadly. She saw him eyeing the sandwich she was still holding and she passed it to him wordlessly. “Did see him with some fella last night actually.” The man said through a hasty mouthful of sandwich.   
“Oh?” Clara asked, her curiosity piqued as well as her nerves.   
“Some little fella. Didn't get a good look at him.”   
Clara's blood ran cold. She'd heard that before. Wasn't that what Miss Hardy had said, when Betty had vanished? That she had seen her with 'some little fella'. It seemed like too much of a coincidence.   
“Can you tell me anything else about him? Did you see anything else?” Clara said urgently. Her heart was racing. Maybe this wasn't over? Maybe whoever, whatever, it was doing this had simply changed tack?   
The man looked taken aback at her questions, but he chewed on his sandwich thoughtfully before answering.  
“Well, he was dressed nice but I didn't see his face. Think he was from the council or something. Barney was talking to him and he seemed friendly enough. You don't think he's done something to Barney do you?” The man looked concerned again now that his sandwich was taken care of. He brushed the crumbs off his dirty old coat.   
“I don't know. It could be nothing.” Clara looked away from him and chewed on her thumbnail. “Do me a favour and don't go off with any men you don't know okay?”  
“Shouldn't I be telling you that?” He chuckled a little sadly. Clara smiled at him and headed out of the shelter of the alleyway into the windy street. 

 

Clara arrived home wind battered but determined. She had known this wasn't over. She dropped her bag unceremoniously in the middle of the hallway and went to her kitchen. She still had a couple of notes the Doctor had left at her house, which she pulled out of the drawer she had hidden them in. She started to rifle through them, pulling out the eyewitness statements.  
Of the few people who had seen anything, most described someone who fit John Price's description. She shoved those aside and pulled out the newest ones. The man described by the most recent witnesses was a little different. Shorter, lighter hair, nice clothes. Not like John Price at all. Was he an accomplice? Or not involved at all?   
Clara stood and began to pace her kitchen.   
“Okay, so maybe this is something? Maybe there were two of them working together. Maybe the other guy killed John Price because he was getting too much attention. Maybe he switched to different victims so people wouldn't see a pattern!” Clara stopped her pacing and glared at the notes. “Or maybe I'm getting worked up over nothing.” Clara dropped herself into her chair.   
She hated to admit it, but she knew this would be easier to figure out with the Doctor's help. She knew that he knew more than he had told her. Did he know whether the culprit was still out there? If he did, why did he just give up?   
She thought she knew the answer. This had all been a game for him, that was all. He was play-acting the part of the detective and she was, what, the swooning women that he would rescue after the villain tied her to some railway tracks? She snatched up a handful of the notes angrily and stuffed them into the bin. She turned and grabbed another handful.   
A name jumped out at her. Barnabas. She smoothed out the sheet and began to read. It was all written out in the Doctor's hand, some parts underlined and other parts scribbled out or illegible.   
The Doctor had interviewed Barnabas as well. He had written it all out. The rambling description of a monster, one that sounded eerily similar to the one Miss Hardy had described. Underlined more times than anything else were the words 'Don't let it know you've seen it'.   
She sat slowly and took a deep breath. She realised she had been holding it while she read through the notes. Maybe Barnabas wasn't crazy?   
But monsters weren't real. Clara wasn't about to start believing in them just because the Doctor obviously did. He was a liar and a fool, she concluded. She resumed throwing away all the notes.   
She had made a decision. If the Doctor wasn't interested then she would carry on the investigation. She would do a better job without him anyway. 

 

29th October 1949

Saturday was Clara's day off and therefore the day she put aside for whatever jobs needed doing that week. Clara rushed through all her tasks for the day during the morning; she baked shortbread for Mrs James's bake sale on Sunday, went shopping, then did a very quick clean of the flat. Once everything was looking at least liveable, she wrapped herself back up in her winter coat and headed out to look for Barnabas. The weather was poor again so it was already dark and gloomy by mid afternoon and the rain had been coming down all day, leaving Clara to navigate around the deep puddles in the street.   
She headed straight for the alleyway but again found nothing. No sign that Barnabas had been around, nor any sign of his friend. She checked around all the usual places she had seen him in the past, even places she had seen other homeless people. She walked all the way down to the riverside and looked around for any sign that he might have been there, nervously peering into the river praying she didn't find the poor old man floating in it.   
By the time she had checked all the way along the river the rain was coming down heavily and water had seeped into Clara's shoes and was starting to penetrate her thick coat. She was feeling miserable and more sure than ever that something bad had happened to Barnabas.   
It was dark by the time Clara got back to Soho. She felt like she hadn't made much progress at all. She knew that Barnabas was missing for sure now, but nothing else that would be useful. Where did she go from here?  
She spotted the man she had spoken to the day before, pulling on a second coat he appeared to have just fished out of a bin. She crossed the road and waved to him, causing him to jump a little in surprise.   
“Bloody hell, didn't recognise you for a sec!” He said ushering her into the relative shelter of the alleyway. “You look like a drowned rat!”  
“Yes, thanks.” She said drily. “Seen Barnabas today?”   
“No but I reckon I saw someone you might be interested in. That little feller! He was going around to some of the other homeless around here. Saw old Ned and he said this guy give him a bible. It was the same guy I saw, I'm sure it was.”  
“He was giving out Bibles?” Clara asked, confused. Why would a killer want to give out Bibles?  
“Yup, Ned says this guy was giving out Bibles. Said he seemed nice enough. Didn't try to lure anyone away.” He chuckled lightly. “Don't suppose you've got any more sandwiches?” He eyed her small bag hopefully.   
“Er, not today no.” She said. “Could you just keep an eye out for this man for me. It's probably nothing, but you know, watch out for him? I'll pop by with something for you to eat next time, okay? I'm Clara, by the way.”   
He gave her a grin and she counted two missing teeth. “Stanley Bexon. I'll keep an eye out for him and old Barney. He might show up. You never know right?”   
“Right, hopefully.” Clara smiled back, and patted his arm before heading back to her house to dry off. 

 

30th October 1949

Sunday evening was usually time for a nice warm bath followed by finishing off her lesson plans and marking. However, this evening was a little different. She had managed to squeeze in her weekly phone call with her father, while she was dropping off the shortbread at Mrs James' flat. She made sure to keep it short and hurry away from Mrs James as quickly as she could to avoid the judgemental glares she gave when she thought Clara couldn't see her.   
The clouds were thick and gloomy again, though thankfully it wasn't raining. She dropped off a corned beef sandwich and some shortbread for Stanley then walked out to where she knew a lot of the local homeless gathered. She would keep an eye out for trouble during the night, the way the Doctor had the night Betty had gone missing.   
She sat down on a low wall with a vacuum flask full of hot chocolate and watched several gathered homeless gentlemen on the other side of the road. She watched them milling about and smoking, hugging her coat around her.   
After around half an hour she found herself growing bored. She felt angry with herself for thinking it, but she knew this would be a lot more enjoyable if the Doctor was with her. Really any company at all would be nice though. Not just the Doctor. She was just bored.   
She saw movement from the end of the street and realised that it was someone walking towards the homeless men. She couldn't see him clearly but he looked well dressed. She sat up a little straighter and watched the figure intently. He approached the men, the collar of his coat pulled up against the cold, obscuring his face. His hair looked light. Almost... Silver? And he was tall too. She recognised that awkward gait...  
She slammed her empty cup down on the wall and stormed over the road.   
“What the hell are you doing here?” She demanded. Tugging on the sleeve of the Doctor's coat. He turned to her, startled, and backed off sharply.   
“Clara!” He said, wide eyed. He didn't seem to have any more words to follow that with so he just stared at her in alarm.   
“You're still nosing around aren't you? You got arrested but you're still doing it!” She shouted disbelievingly. The homeless men all moved away from the pair of them and busied themselves with their cigarettes or hip flasks.   
“Well, evidently so are you!” He said accusingly, gesturing to her and then to the homeless men. They seemed to all silently agree that they didn't want to be involved in this and began to disperse. “Look, you've scared them all away!”  
“Don't you change the subject. You said you were leaving.” Clara snapped.  
“You're the one changing the subject. This situation is more important than your hurt feelings Clara!” He retorted.   
“Well you obviously don't care about my feelings. Do you even really care about them?” She gestured to where several of the homeless men were wandering off down the street.   
“Well I must do, mustn't I? Or I wouldn't be out in the street, in the freezing cold, being chastised by a schoolteacher with an inflated ego.”   
Clara fumed, glaring at him. “I don't think you do care. I think this is just a game to you.”  
“Not a particularly fun game. I think I'd rather play cricket.” He groused. They glared at each other for a moment. “Well?” The Doctor asked, wide eyed.  
“What?” Clara crossed her arms in front of her chest.   
“Why are you out here spying on the homeless?”  
“Same reason you are I imagine.” She huffed.   
“Ah, just for the spectacle then?” He gave her a small grin.   
“No.” She said sternly. “We aren't joking around. You don't get to joke around with me. We aren't friends any more.”   
The Doctor raised one bushy eyebrow. “We were friends?”   
“No.” Clara said sharply. “I mean, weren't we?”   
“I don't know. Haven't had a friend in a while. Have had friends, but ah... Not in a while.” He looked a little uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. Surprisingly more so than when she had been shouting.   
“Well you should know that it's not considered a good thing to lie to your friends. Especially not me. I don't like being lied to.”   
“I'll try to do that a little less in future. No promises. Everyone lies sometimes Clara. Even you.” The Doctor watched her knowingly.   
“That doesn't count as an apology you know.” Clara grumbled, though she found herself relaxing a little in his company. She was a little glad to see him actually. She knew he knew more about the case than what he had told her. “So you're looking for this mystery man too, are you? The small one with the light hair?” She asked. He looked at her appraisingly.   
“You've been getting better at sleuthing I see.”  
“Yeah I think I do pretty well considering I don't have a stolen police badge to make it easier.”   
“No, no it wasn't stolen. I know man that can make forgeries of just about anything.” The Doctor grinned again, as though she was supposed to be impressed. “Anyway, to answer your question, yes I am on the hunt for this particular suspect. It would seem Mr Price wasn't acting alone.”   
Clara leant closer, suddenly feeling vindicated and perhaps a little excited.   
“That's exactly what I thought! That homeless man, Barnabas, went missing and I'm sure he knew more than he was saying. I don't really understand what the Bibles have to do with it though” she said thoughtfully.   
“Bibles?” The Doctor asked.  
“Yeah, one of them said he saw that guy handing out bibles the other day.” The Doctor looked surprised and quite bewildered and Clara felt a little proud that she knew something that the Doctor didn't. They stood silently for a few moments, while the Doctor stared off into the distance, lost in thought.   
Movement caught Clara's eye at the end of the road and she saw a small figure emerge from the shadows. He was too far away to see clearly but he looked noticeably different from the homeless man he was approaching. Small, light haired and dressed in a neat black coat.   
Clara snatched the Doctor's hand and pointed behind him, to where the small man was now talking to one of the homeless men.   
“There he is!” She whispered. The Doctor squeezed her hand and pulled her into the shadows. He pressed a finger to his lips and his blue eyes flashed in the street lights. They moved together slowly, silently, sticking close to the wall. The two men seemed to have reached some sort of an agreement and they turned and headed down a less well lit, more secluded street.   
The Doctor tugged Clara into a bush and she almost got a mouthful of browning autumn leaves.   
“Bleh! Careful!” She said, pushing the prickly branches out of her face. The Doctor just shushed her. In the darkness of the street ahead, the small man patted his homeless friend on the back and took several long paces away from him. Clara squeezed the Doctor's hand very hard. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up and she was suddenly very aware of the cold. She could feel it in her bones. She could feel the danger of the situation so acutely that she felt a sudden desire to bolt. The Doctor was watching with rapt attention.   
“Doctor.” she whispered urgently. “What's happening? Should we help him?” The Doctor shook his head slightly but didn't take his eyes off the scene.   
The homeless man seemed frozen in place. He was shaking visibly even from a distance. Smoke was beginning to pool around him, thick and black like burning rubber and for a moment Clara thought he'd caught on fire.   
The homeless man was shuddering, terrified, and the smoke was surrounding him. The small man had dropped to his knees and his head was bowed, almost reverently. Why didn't he do something?   
The smoke moved around it's prey purposefully, like a living thing, a snake coiling. Then it was like a bird, swooping up before plunging back towards the man in it grasp. It struck him and blackness billowed out around him for a moment. He dropped like a stone. The black smoke swelled and was tinged with light for just a moment, as though whatever had just happened had given it strength. Then it receded, back into the shadows, as though that was all it had ever been.   
The whole thing took only moments, but Clara's whole body ached from the cold and the tension. She was shaking and gripping the Doctor's hand so hard she knew she must be hurting him.   
“He's dead.” The Doctor whispered, more to himself than to Clara.   
“We didn't do anything!” Clara hissed accusingly. “Why didn't we do something?”   
“Nothing we could do.” The Doctor looked grim. The lines in his face stood out as he watched the small man gather himself up and pull the body towards a waiting car. “We don't know what it is.”   
The Doctor finally let go of Clara's hand pulled out his notepad to write down the cars numberplate hastily as it pulled away. They both straightened up.   
“What do you think it was?” She asked, her voice still hushed.   
“I've got some ideas. Mad ones obviously. But it's not safe here. I don't think we want that thing to know we've seen it.” He gestured for her to follow him and led her to the more well lit street they had come from. “I've got a hotel room near here. Horrible place, but probably safer than being out in the street.” Clara followed after him, her head swimming too much for her to disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the quote at the end of chapter 6 is from 'The Raven' by Edgar Allen Poe! Read it, I'm assuming it's the reason they chose a raven as the thing Clara had to face.   
> Sorry this took me so long but they just released the special edition of Skyrim so I've been busy stealing everything that's not nailed down in fantasy Scandinavia.


	9. The Reunion

30th October 1949

The Doctor's hotel room was indeed quite shabby. The furniture was crammed into the small space in a way that made opening drawers and walking across the room quite difficult. Clara slipped carefully around the end of the bed to sit on the small chair by the dressing table. The Doctor sat on the bed and unlaced his boots.   
“Doctor.” Clara said quietly. The Doctor looked up from his laces and fixed her with a searching stare.  
“Clara?”   
“What was that thing?”   
The Doctor watched her thoughtfully for a moment, before continuing to remove his shoes. After they were off his feet he carefully arranged them under the little bedside table. He looked back up at her and gave her a small smile.   
“Have you ever seen something that you couldn't explain?” He asked slowly.   
“Yes, of course I have. I'm an English teacher not a scientist.” Clara said with a shaky laugh.   
“Right, well, this is one of those things Clara. It's the same for me. I can't explain it either.”  
“That doesn't mean its supernatural. Just because we can't explain it that doesn't mean its a ghost or a Martian or something.” Clara said derisively. The Doctor sat up sharply and pointed a bony finger at her. He grinned his sharks grin.   
“Precisely. We-” He pointed back and forth between them. “Can't explain it. But there are other people who could understand it. If they could study it. It's not supernatural or magic. Just undiscovered.”  
“So we've discovered some new creature? In the middle of London?” She said with a raised eyebrow.   
“Isn't it always in the last place you'd expect?”   
Clara rolled her eyes. “But what's it doing in London? How could something like that stay hidden in such a big city?” She was still feeling a little suspicious that what she had seen must be some trick or that perhaps she was imagining things.   
“What better place than London? A city where people will draw a blind eye to anything? People are too busy to stop and look, and with so many people, who would notice if a few of them go missing?” The Doctor's expression went dark as he spoke. She was starting to see his point about not liking London.   
“But it's too many! People are noticing, we noticed!”   
“That's true. This one is drawing a lot of attention to itself.” The Doctor started pulling things out of his inside pocket. A small mirror, a poorly folded map, his shabby notebook and for some reason a small handful of leaves.   
“This one? There are more of them?” Clara leant forward and met the Doctor's eyes. She felt sick. Each new piece of information only made her feel worse, but she pressed on and knew she would keep going until she knew everything.   
“Oh, most certainly.” The Doctor said lightly. “A species can't survive with only one.”  
“So it's an animal?”   
“No. I would say it's alive, but it hails from some other kingdom than the animals.”  
Clara stared back at him. She could feel her legs shaking.   
The Doctor rose and struggled to navigate around the chintzy furniture to get to the wardrobe. He pulled out a bottle of some amber alcohol then snagged the two empty mugs from the dressing table and filled them. He handed a mug to Clara without comment. She took a tentative sip.   
“That's disgusting.” She commented, taking another small sip and swallowing the strong, burning alcohol with a grimace.   
“That's a fine scotch.” He corrected. He took a casual sip and gave her a benign smile. “It'll help with the nerves.”   
They drank in silence for a few long minutes, the Doctor staring blankly out of the window while Clara tried to straighten out her thoughts. She needed more information.   
“So have you seen this before?” Clara asked.   
“I've seen all sorts of things.” The Doctor replied evasively. “War, famine, cruelty, things more terrible than what we saw tonight.” He downed the last of his drink and refilled the mug.   
“But that thing, have you seen anything like that before?” Clara pressed. She couldn't get sidetracked now, she had to make it to the end, she had to know everything.   
“Yes.” The Doctor said simply. He didn't seem too inclined to elaborate.   
“Why are you keeping this from me? I could be in danger, I should know what that thing is! All I've done is help you and you still want to keep all your secrets. What's the point?” Clara's voice rose in anger and the Doctor looked at his feet like a scolded child.   
“Sometimes knowing is more dangerous than not knowing. I was really hoping I was wrong about this case. Unfortunately, I'm very rarely wrong.”   
Clara drank some more of her scotch and found the taste becoming a little less unpleasant.   
The Doctor sighed, then continued. “I've seen things like this before.” He paused and seemed to carefully consider his next words. “I don't know what they are, exactly.They're predators, but they don't feed on flesh. You saw what it did to that man.”  
“It just... sucked the life out of him.” Clara said quietly.   
“That's what it feeds on. Whatever it is, that spark of life, it gets its energy from that.”   
Clara felt her legs shaking again and the Doctor reached out to top up her mug of scotch.   
“But it's killed so many people. How could it stay hidden like that? How could no one have ever found out about them?”   
To her surprise the Doctor's face lightened and he smiled slightly.   
“Well, I have a theory. There are all sorts of different people in the world; kind ones, cruel ones, shy ones. Greedy ones.” The Doctor raised his eyebrows tellingly.   
“Are you saying that this is just a really greedy... something?” She said incredulously.   
“That's my theory. In a big city like this, surrounded by food all ripe for the picking? It's become gluttonous.”   
Clara gave a slightly hysterical laugh and sipped some more of her drink, feeling light headed.   
“Why didn't he run away? The- the homeless man? He just stood there.”   
“I've found that when it comes to human prey, these things are attracted to... Misery, I suppose you would call it. Suffering and loss. Makes for easier prey. It picks on the weak. Not the weak of body or mind, but weak of spirit. People who are worn down, tired or mourning.” The Doctor stared down into his mug to avoid making eye contact.   
Clara thought about what he'd said. She thought of Nancy, struggling alone with no family. Betty desperately searching for her lost friends. Barnabas, living on the streets telling stories about his long lost daughter. Maybe the Doctor was right. But there was something else that she was missing.   
“What about the man? It didn't attack him, he was helping it.”   
“Very clever Miss Oswald. What about him?” He put his mug down and lay back on the bed. His eyes slipped closed and for a moment and he looked very tired and somehow so much older than usual. “That's where I'm afraid your guess is as good as mine.” He opened his tired eyes and looked at her again. “Any ideas?”   
Clara thought about it, but found the shock and alcohol had made her mind fuzzy and unfocused.   
“Maybe it can communicate with him?” She guessed. “Maybe they made a deal?”   
“Hmm. Maybe.” The Doctor said quietly. He sounded neither sceptical nor convinced.   
Clara stood from her chair and went to lie on the bed beside the Doctor, suddenly quite overcome with tiredness and feeling very shaky on her feet. The Doctor glanced at her uncomfortably but didn't say anything.   
They lay side by side in silence and Clara followed the cracks on the ceiling with her eyes. There was a damp mouldy patch in the far corner.   
“You said you'd seen them before.” She said. It wasn't a question. She wasn't sure if she really wanted to know about it.   
“When I was very young. During the great war. Like I said, these creatures are attracted to misery and hopelessness. I can't think of a better place for them than the trenches.” He looked very tired and sad. She wanted to offer him some comfort, perhaps hug him? She realised that such an action would be rather inappropriate considering they were lying together on his bed. She thought about getting up off the bed, but she knew the movement would probably make her sick.   
“But how do we stop it?” She said sleepily. Her eyelids were drooping.   
“I don't know. I have some ideas. I know what it doesn't like, things you can use to protect yourself. But not how beat it.”   
“We'll work it out.” Clara said through a yawn. She closed her eyes. Perhaps she would just rest for a while. 

When Clara woke she found that it was still dark outside and she felt icy cold lying on top of the blanket. The Doctor must have gotten up at some point to turn off the light. He was now lying on the bed, stiffly, on his back, with one hand resting on his chest. He was sleeping quite peacefully. Clara realised that while the Doctor was still lying on his back, squarely on his side of the bed, she had rolled over and was hugging his arm to her like a teddy bear. She gingerly let go of him and rolled away. She was sure he would be quite mortified if he had woken to find her like that.   
She sat up and spotted the Doctor's watch on the pile of items he had removed from his pocket the night before. The watch showed half past six in the morning. She looked back at the pile of things he had taken from his pocket and reached out to pick up the leaves that had puzzled her the night before. They were small and soft and when she lifted them to her nose she caught a distinctive scent. They were sage leaves.   
The Doctor let out a loud breath beside her and began to stir. He sat up sharply, startled to find someone sitting on his bed.   
“Clara!” He said a little loudly.   
“Shh! You'll wake everyone up. The walls are paper thin in here.” She rubbed at her arms, remembering how cold she was.   
The Doctor cleared his throat quietly. “What time is it?”  
“Half six.” She held his watch out to him and he returned it to the pile.   
“Don't you need to work? You're a teacher aren't you?” He whispered, squinting at her through the dark.   
“I can't go in today. We have someone who can take my classes. Does this place have a phone?”  
The Doctor nodded. “Okay, I'll go and call them. I'll tell them I have the flu.” She stood to go downstairs and realised she still had a handful of sage leaves. She laughed softly. “Why do you have these? What could you possibly need sage leaves for?”  
“Cooking emergency?” The Doctor offered sleepily. Clara rolled her eyes. “Just an idea of mine. You keep that. Might need it.”   
Clara thought about pressing him for an explanation, but instead she tucked the sage into her handbag and went to the door.   
“Wait!” The Doctor said sharply. She glanced back with her hand on the door handle. “You can't go down there, they'll know you slept in my room!” He looked very concerned. Clara worked her mothers old wedding ring off her index finger and put it on to her ring finger. The Doctor looked even more alarmed.   
“There, nothing wrong with sharing a bed with your wife, is there?” She said.  
The Doctor scowled at her. “I thought it was wrong to tell lies? Some example you must set for the children.”   
“Everyone tells lies.” Clara said with a shrug. She straightened out her dress and hair and headed out of the cramped, chilly room to the reception area. She found an older man dozing behind the desk with a cold cup of tea in his hands.   
“Excuse me?” She said softly. He jumped awake and sloshed tea over his trousers.   
“Sorry, sorry miss. Thought no one was up yet. It's not breakfast time is it?” He shoved his glasses back on and dabbed at the wet patch on his trousers with a handkerchief.   
“I don't know. It's nearly seven o'clock. I just wanted to use your phone.” She spotted the phone sitting behind the counter. The man squinted at her suspiciously.   
“What room are you in?” He asked warily.  
“Oh, sorry, I just got in last night. I'm in room three, with my husband.” She said with a smile. She made sure to lay her hands on the counter top, so he could see the wedding ring. The man looked dumbfounded and took a moment to gather his wits before he spoke.   
“Mrs Smith?” He said disbelievingly. Clara smiled benignly. “Sorry, you wanted to use the phone? Why don't you come round.” He stood and let her behind the counter. Clara quickly dialled the number for work and told the receptionist about the dreadful case of flu she had developed over the weekend. Once she had sufficiently convinced the receptionist she hung up and thanked the man at the desk. She came around the front and ran straight into the Doctor, who had changed into a new shirt and handsome velvet smoking jacket.   
“John!” She said brightly. She widened her eyes at his confused expression. She tried to communicate to him that he should play along.   
“Ah! Clara! All sorted?” He asked. Clara stood up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, causing a blush to spread across his face. The man behind the counter watched them surreptitiously over the top of yesterdays newspaper. He was clearly fascinated by the concept that the Doctor was married.   
“No need to worry. We have the whole day. Just you and me.” She linked their arms and pulled the Doctor towards the door. Best to leave before their little charade fell apart. 

The sun was up by the time they arrived back at Clara's flat. She left the Doctor perusing her bookshelf while she went for a quick shower. She changed and fixed her hair up so it was out of her face. When she emerged from her bedroom she found the Doctor was no longer in the living room. She heard rattling and cursing coming from her kitchen.   
“Doctor, what are you doing?” She asked as she entered the kitchen. He had removed his jacket and was bent over her small kitchen table with an array of cutlery and little springs and bolts spread across it.   
He straightened up and she saw her typewriter, clearly halfway towards being dismantled. “The keys were sticking on your typewriter.”   
“So you're going to buy me a new one now that you've taken that one apart?” Clara put her hands on her hips.   
“I have three degrees you know.” The Doctor said apropos of nothing. He pulled another spring out of the carcass of her typewriter.   
“Is one of them in typewriter maintenance?” She huffed.   
“Don't be ridiculous. It'll be better than before once I'm done.” The Doctor continued to take apart her typewriter, and Clara took a seat and watched him resignedly.   
“So... the sage?” She asked. The Doctor pulled several of the keys loose and dropped them onto the table.   
He paused and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. “Keep hold of it. Might need it.”   
Clara sighed. “Why?”  
The Doctor put the carriage of her typewriter down on the table and turned to look at her.   
“Did you know that cats hate oranges?” The Doctor said. Clara gaped at him for a moment.   
“I didn't know that.” She conceded. “That's very... interesting. Although I haven't eaten an orange in about ten years so I don't know how useful that is. Also I like cats.”   
“What?” The Doctor said sharply, as though she was the one talking nonsense. “Clara, it's an analogy. Don't be so literal all the time!”   
“Well if it's an analogy then finish it. Don't just say a load of rubbish then stop talking.”   
The Doctor sighed and took a seat at the table.   
“Cats hate oranges. Can't stand the smell.” He stared at her wide eyed, as though she was supposed to already see where this was going. “This creature we are dealing with has its own dislikes.”  
“So this thing doesn't like sage?” Clara asked.   
“Exactly.” He stood back up and started to mess around with the carriage of her typewriter.   
“How do you know that?”   
“Well, for one, its well documented in folklore. Burn sage to drive away evil spirits. Of course in other countries its usually a different plant but that could always just be because it works on different species of these creatures. Or maybe it's the same chemical in all the plants?” He looked thoughtful. “Anyway, in Europe it's often sage, in India it's turmeric, in China it's the wood of the peach tree.”  
“You said it wasn't a ghost! Now you're calling it an 'evil spirit'?”   
“Think, Clara!” He said sharply. “What did I say about things we don't understand? People don't know what these things are so they make up their own stories, and in those stories there is some truth! People know that sage protects them from whatever killed their neighbour, they just don't know why! So they say it was an evil spirit and sage has magical properties that drive them away!”   
He flopped back down into the chair, looking tired after his outburst. He poked at the remaining keys on her typewriter restlessly.   
“So it works then? Is that how you stopped the first one you saw? During the war?” Clara leaned forward over the table with interest. Now she was getting somewhere.   
“No, I didn't stop that one. Survived it, but then I survived the war too, which most people didn't.” He sighed and ceased his fretful fiddling with the typewriter. “But we did find that sage repelled it, yes. A Sikh fellow I met out there assured me that turmeric would work too, but that's a little harder to come by in Northern France.”  
Clara was quiet for a moment. He looked lost in thought and memories of the war. She thought it best to leave him to them. When he went back to tightening parts of the typewriter she decided to speak again.   
“Is there anything else? My nan always said iron scares away evil spirits.” Clara kept her voice very light and soft, since the Doctor looked tense enough that he might run out the door.   
“Yes, I'm sure she's full of old fashioned wisdom.” The Doctor said derisively. “Unfortunately, this thing doesn't seem to be harmed by normal weapons. Shooting it with bullets or poking it with a bayonet did nothing so I doubt an iron horseshoe is going to put it off.”  
“Just a suggestion.” She grumbled.  
“Light. It hates sunlight and other bright lights. It's nocturnal.” He said casually.   
“Does the light hurt it?” Clara asked excitedly.  
“No of course it doesn't! Light doesn't hurt nocturnal creatures, they just don't like it!” He appeared to be reassembling her typewriter now, although how he was going to remember where all the parts went when they were strewn all over the table, she had no idea.   
“Well what does hurt it then? That's quite important if we want it to stop killing people.” She said irritably. “We didn't do anything to help that homeless man last night! We just stood there, because we don't know what we're doing!”  
The Doctor spread his hands out and shrugged at her. “Well, what can we do Clara? Do you have any brilliant ideas, because we could really use them about now?”  
He was suddenly infuriating to Clara. “You're the one with three degrees. What's your idea?” Clara crossed her arms over her chest defensively.   
They scowled at each other for several long moments.   
“We need to find this man. The one who's in cahoots with this thing. But how do we find him?” The Doctor said. He stood and paced across the limited space in her kitchen.   
“We did find him. Last night.” Clara pointed out.   
“That's true. We should have gone over and performed a citizens arrest while his monster friend sucked out our souls!” The Doctor said flippantly.   
“I mean, we already found him once, so we can obviously find him again. We just need to catch him when he's alone.”   
The Doctor chewed on his thumb thoughtfully for a moment before he spoke. “I may have one lead. Do you still have the police folders I left here?”   
Clara blushed. “No. I threw them away.” She admitted.   
“What about the rest? The torches and the recording equipment? Those things are expensive you know.” He gave her a reproachful look and returned to fixing her typewriter.   
“They're under my bed.” They sat together in an awkward silence for several minutes. “So what was your lead?” She said eventually.  
The Doctor kept his attention on the typewriter, which was starting to look like less of a wreck. “Someone has been damaging people's garden and allotments. Ripping up herbs.”   
“So it's him?” She asked.   
“I would hazard a guess that it is him.”  
“So we just need to find the next place he might show up and wait. Then we'll find him.”  
“Hmm. A good enough plan. I suppose.” He didn't look convinced.   
“Well you aren't coming up with anything, so this is all we have.” Clara stood and went to the cupboard. “I'll make breakfast. You'd better be finished with that soon, you've got more important things to be doing.”   
“Yes Ma'am.” The Doctor said under his breath.   
Clara busied herself with making him a bowl of porridge while he clanked around with his improvised tools, cursing quietly under his breath. In terms of her typewriter it wasn't very reassuring but it was strangely comforting to have someone else around the flat to keep her company.  
The thought of some strange, ethereal creature that could kill with such ease was very unsettling. Part of her felt like she never wanted to leave the house again, while another part felt quite determined to rush straight out and fight it. If it was up to her she was sure it would be hard to decide which choice was the best, but she had a feeling the Doctor's thoughts on the issue were the latter.   
And that settled it really. There was no way the Doctor would be facing that thing alone, he would likely get himself killed. Not to mention, she would hate to be left out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oranges were rationed during the war. Only children got oranges in their rations. Also no one got bananas.


	10. The Stake Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old fashioned stake out. With tea.

31st October 1949

There was a drunk man on the other side of the road. He was trying and consistently failing to mount a bicycle. After a particularly valiant attempt he staggered so badly that he fell flat on his face. Clara watched him from her side of the road disinterestedly.  
“Why is he doing that?” The Doctor asked, looking up over the top of the map he had been examining.  
“I don't know. He drank too much gin?” Clara shrugged. The Doctor looked completely bewildered by this and went back to his map. “Is this a good spot then? Do you think he'll show up here?”  
The Doctor lowered the map again. “It's the most likely place. That doesn't mean he'll show up. He might decide to stay in tonight. Bake a cake. Listen to the radio.”  
Clara nodded slowly. “Or skip this bit and take his pet monster out.” She said under her breath. She opened her vacuum flask and poured them both some tea, which the Doctor took gratefully. He fished some slightly fuzzy sugar cubes from his pocket and went to add them to his tea. Clara batted his hand away impatiently and pulled a few pre-packaged cubes from her bag for him. He gave her a very surprised look, his impressive eyebrows shooting up.  
He added his sugar without comment and they both went back to watching the drunk man who was still lying where he had fallen.  
“You know you still didn't apologise.” Clara said suddenly.  
“Well since you're here helping me I think that's moot now.”  
“No. There's still something out there killing people and you are the one who knows what he's doing. That doesn't mean I forgive you.”  
“Oh, I see. Doesn't bode very well for our marriage, does it Mrs Smith?” He eyed her mother's ring that was still on the wrong finger.  
“Lying to your wife. Very bad idea.”  
He sighed and put his tea down on the wall. “Would it make you feel better if I apologised? Would that make this all run more smoothly?”  
“Not if you're gonna to be like that.” She turned away from him to watch the drunk man on the other side of the road. He was still lying face down. He appeared to be asleep.  
The Doctor sighed. “Clara, I'm sorry? Okay?” He widened his eyes and held his hands out as though he had just made some grand declaration.  
“No, try again. It's not an apology if you don't understand why you need to apologise.”  
“You can definitely tell that you're a teacher.” He grumbled. Clara raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Fine. Clara, I am... sorry that I was dishonest with you. I should have told you the truth and I should not have got you involved in any criminal activity. In my defence, nothing puts people off like saying 'by the way I'm not really a police officer, now let me walk you home so you don't get murdered!'”  
Clara laughed. “No, see, that is quite off-putting. You could probably phrase that better.” She leant in towards him so their shoulders bumped together and grinned at him. He seemed to take that quite well, as though that was the level of contact he was happy with.  
“So, we're...” He hesitated. “Friends, now?” He said the word as though it was one that she had recently made up and he was uncertain over the pronunciation.  
“Yes.” Clara said simply. They went back to looking across the road at the tiny garden. It was small but herbs were growing in it and hanging over the crumbling stone wall. The Doctor had guessed this was a place their mysterious suspect might show up next.  
The drunk man staggered to his feet and wandered off down the road, leaving the bike leaning against the wall.  
They drank their tea in silence, Clara watching the garden while the Doctor inspected his map, scribbling on it with a pen. After around 20 minutes of waiting, Clara pulled out a book from her bag and began to read.  
“Sorry, am I boring you?” The Doctor asked with one bushy eyebrow raised. Clara closed her book with a sigh.  
“Just thought I'd catch up with some reading. You weren't talking.” She looked up at him. He seemed very tall with them both perched on the wall. Her feet dangled just above the floor while his were planted firmly on the pavement.  
“Well...” He looked around, possibly for something interesting to talk about. “What would you like to talk about?”  
Clara sighed again and tucked her book back into her bag. “This isn't how conversations work you know.”  
“We're talking now, so I think you'll find it is!” He said triumphantly.  
She cast around for something to say. She looked him up and down. Dressed neatly in his smoking jacket he looked like a professor or some other rich, know-it-all type.  
“You aren't a policeman.” She said. Looking at him now it seemed quite obvious.  
The Doctor looked like he wanted to make some scathing retort, but he seemed to visibly hold back.  
“No, I am not.”  
“So what do you do? You seem pretty well off for someone who's obviously not getting paid for this.”  
“You aren't getting paid to be here either.” He shifted uncomfortably on the wall.  
“No I get paid for my job. As a teacher.”  
“Well, I am also a teacher. Or I have been. University of Glasgow.” He said. Clara laughed. “What's so funny?”  
“I was just thinking you look like a professor. I bet you're rich too, aren't you?”  
“Well I obviously have money or I couldn't afford to be out of work and buying fake police badges could I? They aren't cheap you know!”  
Clara laughed again. “So you're rich because you're a know-it-all. With your three degrees.”  
“No, I was rich before all that. Money in the family.”  
“So you're a toff?”  
“I suppose you could say that. I was the black sheep though. I'm sure if I had any other family left by the time my father died he would have left the money to them.” He was smiling at her but his eyes looked sad.  
“Bit of a rebel were you?” She said lightly, looking back across the road. She felt bad seeing that sadness in his eyes; she was sure he hadn't meant her to notice. He laughed and it sounded genuine enough.  
“No I was a complete wimp. My father said I was a soft wee lad.” Clara looked at him incredulously. She found it hard to believe this ill mannered man, who ran head-first towards trouble was ever a 'soft wee lad'. “Tried to make an officer of me when I hit 18, so I could send the other boys over the top to their deaths. But I wanted to prove myself, so I joined up with all the rest. Think my family was pretty surprised when I came back alive. Don't think it made my dad very proud though.”  
“You fought in the war and he still wasn't proud?” She studied his face again. It was strange how at times he could look so young and bright, while at others his face could become so lined and tired.  
“He wanted me to be an officer. I was a teenager so I thought I was very clever indeed and defied him.”  
“Was he angry?”  
“Oh yes. But he was even more angry when I came back. His least favourite son, the only one to come back from the war. Didn't even have the sense to die.” He smiled a very bitter smile. She regretted bringing it all up in the first place.  
She shifted on the wall and twisted around to put her arms around his neck in an awkward hug.  
“Clara!” He said sharply. She tightened her grip around his neck and gave him a squeeze. “I- uh, don't think hugging is really for me Clara.”  
“Shush.” She felt his arms come up clumsily around her and he briefly returned the hug. She let him go and saw his arms were still awkwardly held out and his cheeks had taken on a little colour. She settled back on the wall. “So what did you teach?”  
“Oh all sorts of things. Mostly physics. A little biology. No chemistry though. Chemists are all terrible bores.”  
“You'd fit right in then.” She said with a smirk.  
“Haha.”  
She stood to pour them both some more tea, but stopped when she felt his hand close around her wrist.  
“It's him.” He whispered. “No don't look!” She stopped sharply, mid turn, and fixed her stare back down at the flask on the wall. They both stayed frozen in place. She could hear the sound of a car door closing nearby. “Damn, he can see us. I think he's suspicious.” She glanced sideways at the Doctor, saw his face twisted in a scowl. “I'm a complete idiot. I should have found somewhere to hide.”  
“Maybe we don't need to hide...”  
She was suddenly overtaken by an idea so utterly mad that she felt she had no choice but to try it. She turned and grabbed the Doctor by the lapels of his smoking jacket and pulled him down into a kiss. It wasn't the most elegant of kisses, the Doctor was around a foot taller than her so she had to pull him into an awkward stoop so their lips could meet. He didn't pull away, perhaps he was too startled, but he did flap his arms up and down in surprise. She thought he might be hoping to achieve enough lift to fly away.  
“Is he still looking?” She murmured against his lips. She cracked her eyes open and saw his shoot open to. He looked confused and perhaps a little terrified, then understanding seemed to come over him. She moved her hands up to wrap around his shoulder and he straightened up, pulling her up with him so she was on her tiptoes. She pressed her lips to his again, now that they were in a better position for him to see their suspect.  
It wasn't a deep kiss, just lips pressed together in the approximation of a kiss. Nonetheless it had been such a long time since Clara had kissed anyone that she found herself leaning into his embrace. His hand found a place at the small of her back and his lips moved uncertainly against her own. He pressed her close so their chests were flush together. She could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his ragged huffs of breath against her cheek.  
She could feel heat on her face and slowly became aware of how very mad this plan of hers had been. Kiss the Doctor? He got uncomfortable hugging her!  
She pulled back sharply and buried her head in the safety of his chest. The doctors arms came up around her shoulders and he held her in place. That was a good sign.  
She felt him fidget and shuffle them around and her curiosity won out against her embarrassment. She looked up at him and met his eyes. They looked very dark under the amber street light.  
“Can't look directly at him, he'll get suspicious. Could you...” He jerked his head to gesture behind and she caught on to his train of thought. She cuddled closer to him and peeked around his slim frame to observe their suspect.  
They looked for all the world like a happy couple enjoying a cuddle on a cold night. That was only because it wasn't immediately obvious to anyone but Clara that although the Doctor had his arms around her, his posture was ramrod straight and decidedly un-cuddly.  
The man had obviously decided they were no threat and had hopped over the garden wall. His back was to them now and he was pulling up plants by the handful. He stopped to sniff at a few but didn't seem to know what he was sniffing for and just ended up ripping out everything that got in his way.  
“It's him, he's tearing up the garden! What do we do?” She realised they hadn't planned for what they would do if he actually showed up. It had seemed pretty unlikely.  
“I don't know.” The Doctor said, still sounding a little shell-shocked from the kiss.  
“Don't you have a plan?”  
“No. Do you have a plan?”  
“Coming up with plans is your job!” She snapped.  
“Well then what on earth is your job? To boss me around?” He said haughtily.  
Sharp movement on the other side of the road cut off her retort before she could even begin. The man had hopped back over the wall with a cloth sack overflowing with plants and was bolting back to his car.  
“He's getting way!”  
The Doctor sprang into action, quite unexpectedly. He bolted after the man who was so startled at being chased he stumbled and dropped his bag. Clara followed behind, running after him but knowing she had no chance of keeping up with her short legs.  
The suspect scrambled to the car, clearly terrified at being pursued by the much taller man.  
The car spluttered to life as the Doctor got to it and began to pull away from him as his hand grabbed for the door handle. Even as the car began to pick up speed the Doctor kept charging after it. He ran the way she imagined a spider might run if it suddenly found itself with only two legs.  
The car's tyres screeched in protest and it veered off far too fast for the Doctor to keep up.  
He slowed to a stop and visibly sagged. Clara kept up a brisk jog until she got to where he was standing in the road.  
“So what was the plan there Humphrey Bogart?” Clara asked sarcastically.  
“I'm not sure. Citizens arrest?” He looked thoroughly put out that the man had gotten away.  
“Well I would have loved to see you pull him out of a moving car.” She gave him a good natured smile. She didn't want him thinking she was making fun of him.  
“Did he seem familiar to you?” The Doctor asked thoughtfully.  
“Well we have seen him before.”  
“No, not from the other night. Sure I've seen him before then...”  
“I didn't get a good look at him.” She said apologetically. “Come on lets just go back to my flat. I'll fry something for you?”  
The Doctor said nothing but followed behind her to collect their stuff from the wall.  
“That was an interesting idea of yours.” He said delicately. “I wonder if the spies in the French resistance used that one?” He was purposely looking away from her.  
She popped her hands on her hips and turned to him. “Maybe they should have? Worked pretty well. Until we started arguing.”  
“Hmm.” He turned and looked down at her with a very serious but unreadable expression, before his face broke out into a cheeky grin. He held his arm out to her, like the gentleman he was. “You said something about food?”  
Clara laughed and took his proffered arm.  
“Yeah okay, I'm sure I've got some bread and eggs in. Need to feed you up anyway. You're built like a ladder!” 

 

In the warmth of Clara's kitchen, the Doctor leant back in his chair and pushed his now empty plate away.  
“Not sure I deserved that.” He said.  
“What?” Clara cocked her head in confusion. “I'm not still mad at you or anything. I don't mind cooking for you. I mean, I was mad, obviously.”  
“At the risk of offending you again, that's not what I was referring to.”  
Clara felt a little embarrassed that she had assumed that he had been talking about her.  
“What's wrong?”  
“Well, what was the plan supposed to be there, Clara? I didn't think of anything. Usually I can come up with something on the spot but... Well chasing him wasn't exactly a genius plan was it?”  
“You can't get it right every time. Don't worry about it.” She sipped her tea but kept her eyes on him over the top of her mug.  
“I'll have to do some more planning. Need to work out what can stop this thing.” He stood and started to pace her kitchen. “Need to remember where I saw that man before.”  
“You're sure you've seen him before? Was I with you?”  
He shook his head. “Can't remember. I'm not good with faces.” He went to where he had left his bag, a ragged leather thing that worked very well for a man who called himself doctor. He pulled out a few handfuls of slightly squashed and battered sage and dropped it on the table. “Keep this around the house. That man got a look at you and if we've met him before he might know where to find you.”  
“You think he'd come here?” She clutched a handful of the sage nervously, as though it were a lifeline.  
“No. Maybe.” The Doctor said evasively. “I'll be away for the next few days. Need to do some research.”  
Clara stood sharply. “What about me?” She cringed a little at how needy she sounded.  
“You... Go about your business. Work and nosing around in other people's lives. Whatever you normally do.” Clara huffed in irritation.  
“That's not what I normally do!” She snapped.  
The Doctor closed the short distance between them and bent down a little so they were almost nose to nose. His nose was rather beaky.  
“Clara, promise me you will stay inside after dark.” He said firmly. He took her shoulders in his hands.  
“Are you gonna promise the same thing?”  
He looked perturbed. “Do you want me too? I'm a grown man Clara.”  
“And I'm a grown woman! And this thing clearly doesn't care about things like that. I doubt it's going to come after me just because I'm a woman!”  
The Doctor eyed her uncertainly. “Alright, I promise not to go out after dark.”  
“I promise not to go out after dark as well.” Clara agreed.  
“Good.” He straightened up and went to collect his bag.  
“Where do you think you're going?”  
He paused in the doorway to the kitchen and gave her a puzzled look.  
“Back to my hotel?”  
“No, you're staying here. It's dark out.” She insisted. Her tone of voice left no room for disagreement.  
“Right. I just promised not to go out in the dark. That should make things difficult.” He put his bag back down and took off his jacket, already resigned to staying the night. He bent to remove his shoes, then paused. “What about your landlady? She saw me come up here.”  
“It's alright, she saw you last time as well. I think she thinks I'm a bit of a loose woman now. Shacked up with a criminal.” She said flippantly.  
“Clara! You didn't tell me that!” He looked alarmed. His bushy eyebrows looked in danger of flying off his face with how quickly they shot up.  
“Shut up. Don't worry about it. She's just an old busybody, I don't care what she thinks.”  
This didn't seem to do much to calm him but he went to her living room while she collected some bedding for him to sleep on the sofa again.  
When she entered the living room she saw that he was looking through his box of stolen police equipment. He took out a heavy torch and some handcuffs.  
“Those should make your citizens arrest easier.” She commented. “You can just take all of that if you want. You're the one that stole it.” She said a little disapprovingly.  
“Actually, I think you'll find that you were what's known as an accessory to that crime.” He waggled his eyebrows as though he thought himself a lovable rogue. She tossed the bedding at him unceremoniously. “And you'd better keep this stuff. It could come in handy. There's some good stuff here.” He disentangled himself from the sheets and set the box back on the floor.  
“If you say so.” She sat on the chair and watched him for a moment. “How long do you think you'll be away for?”  
“Not sure. Need to drop buy the library, talk to a few friends across town. Might get a lead from them about our mysterious beast.”  
Clara frowned. “Thought you said you didn't have any friends.”  
“Well, they like it if I call them friends. I like it if they leave me alone, but we can't have everything.” He said lightly. The sat together for a few minutes more, the Doctor fidgeting with the torch and Clara watching him distractedly.  
He had taken being kissed surprisingly well. He'd even played along. She wasn't really sure exactly what that meant, or even really how she felt about it. She didn't really know why she was even still thinking about. Perhaps loneliness was starting to get the better of her.  
“Well.” She stood and straightened out her dress. “We'd better go to bed.”  
“Yes.” He said softly. “Goodnight Clara.” He sounded sad and thoughtful and she wasn't really sure why that was. She gave him a smile.  
“Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas or whatever.


	11. The Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's under the mask? Holy shit it was the janitor!

1st November 1949

The café was almost deserted as Clara and the Doctor sat waiting for their tea and cake.   
“Lovely place.” The Doctor said drily. He looked around at the depressing surroundings; the yellowing curtains, the miserable looking waitress. She unceremoniously delivered them their drinks and slice of cake.   
The table they were eating off of sagged in the middle and strongly reminded Clara of the table her dad used to use when he was laying wallpaper. Someone had thrown a tablecloth over it and decorated it with a drooping flower in an old jam jar. The Doctor tapped on the table and it creaked in protest.   
Clara picked up a bit of cake and ate it. It was incredibly dry and not particularly sweet.   
“Oh lord, that's horrible. The food was better here when it was a British restaurant.” she choked down the cake and pushed the rest away.   
“You ate at those in the war? I thought those were for people with no money?” The Doctor asked. He tried a bit of the cake and grimaced.   
“We aren't all rich like you.” She said irritably. He raised his eyebrows in mock affront. “My first flat I had in London got bombed out. Destroyed everything.”  
“Unfortunate. Glasgow got hit pretty hard but nowhere near me.” He looked down into his teacup avoiding her eyes.   
“So you didn't fight?” She asked. His face coloured a little and for a moment she was horrified that he thought she was implying that he was a coward.   
“No. Too... Old actually. A few months too old for conscription.” He chewed on his thumb and fidgeted in his seat.  
Clara wasn't sure what to say so she busied herself with her tea, having given up completely on the cake. They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking their tea. The Doctor looked almost embarrassed, though she wasn't sure why.   
“Dad was desperate for me to go back to Blackpool during the war.” She said, breaking the silence. “I thought it would probably be just as dangerous in Blackpool. But no, not even one bomb, anywhere near him, while my whole house gets destroyed. Can you believe that?”  
The Doctor laughed and seemed to relax a little.   
“To be fair there's nothing worth bombing in Blackpool.”  
“Hey!” She said, scandalised. “What about Glasgow? The bombers probably did you a favour.”  
“You cheeky bloody English!” He said with a grin. “Glasgow is a beautiful city.”   
“I think you mean Edinburgh. Edinburgh is a beautiful city.” She corrected, grinning back. “If Glasgow is so great and London is so bad, why even leave Glasgow?”   
“I go where the action is. Why did you leave Blackpool?”  
Clara thought about it for a moment. “Same thing I suppose.”   
“So how are you enjoying the action?” He picked at the cake but didn't eat any.   
“It's a bit more than I'm used to at the moment. I'm blaming you for that.”  
“That's fair. Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm seeking out the danger or if it just naturally follows me around.”  
“Second one. Definitely.”  
They grinned at each other like a pair of conspiring schoolchildren. The miserable waitress took what was left of their cake without comment.   
“Thank god that's gone.” The Doctor said. “I'm pretty sure it was just stale bread.” The waitress threw them a dirty look from across the room since the Doctor made no attempt to keep his voice down.   
“You should try my cake. I don't want to brag, but I make a great carrot cake.”   
“It's not possible to brag about carrot cake, Clara. Can you do coffee and walnut?”   
“Probably. I used to bake all the time before the war. My mum taught me. She was an amazing baker.”  
“I'll bet she wouldn't have tried to feed me carrot cake.”   
“Soufflé was her speciality. I can never get it right though, it always collapses when I do it. Seems like a waste of eggs with the rationing.”  
“Well I mostly eat chips so maybe you can have a go with my eggs.” The Doctor said nonchalantly sipping on the last of his cold tea.  
Clara watched him curiously. He wanted her to bake for him? How would that work? Would he just bring eggs to her house and wait around while she baked? She supposed they were friends now, so perhaps it wasn't such an odd idea. She just hadn't imagined he would be such a conventional sort of friend. He seemed more like the sort of friend who showed up unexpectedly and threw your whole life into chaos.   
“All right then. You solve the case and bring me the ingredients and I'll bake for you.”   
“Sounds like I'm doing all the work there.” The Doctor grumbled.   
“Says the man who never tried to make a soufflé.”  
“Fine, but none of that Victoria sponge rubbish.”   
After a short disagreement over who would pay, the Doctor paid the grumpy waitress and they left. The sun was dazzlingly bright but the air was crisp.   
“Well, I need to go and buy a lot of nails and some magnets.” The Doctor said cryptically.   
“Okay... Have fun?” They stood awkwardly, looking at one another. Clara reached out and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.   
The Doctor grumbled his displeasure but allowed her to cling onto him for a few moments.   
“Watch out for monsters, Clara.” He said gravely.   
“You too.”   
The Doctor turned to leave but Clara grabbed his arm.   
“No, no more hugging. We're adults Clara, it's not right!”  
“No you daft old man.” She huffed. She pulled a spare key from her bag and held it out to him. “Take my spare key. Then you can pop straight over when you find something.” He reached out to take the key but she snatched it out of his reach. “But not if its after dark. Because you promised.”  
“Yes Ma'am.” He said, finally accepting the key and storing it in his cavernous inside pocket.   
Clara headed off back towards her house along Lexington Street and ducked into the alleyway where her homeless friends tended to be.   
“Stanley?” She called. She felt anxious when she didn't immediately see him. After what had happened with Barnabas she felt like she should be checking on him several times a day. A bin lid hit the floor with an ear splitting crash.   
“Oh there you are Miss Oswald! I was hoping you'd come by actually!” Stanley shuffled around the bin he had just knocked into and popped the lid back on. He gave her his friendly, toothless grin.   
“I'm sure you were!” she said knowingly. She took a spam sandwich from her bag and handed it to him.   
“No, no, it ain't just that you know!” He said reproachfully, though he accepted the sandwich and started unwrapping it.   
“What is it, did you find Barnabas?”   
Stanley sagged a little. “Nah, No luck there. Poor old Barney.” He lowered the sandwich and looked at it reproachfully.   
“So what was it then?” Clara prompted.  
“Right! I saw that man yesterday! Your suspect or whatever he was.”   
“You saw him last night? What time? Where?” She asked urgently. Stanley looked a little taken aback by her reaction.   
“Er... It was late? Past midnight. He was acting real shifty. Looking about nearby.”   
Clara's blood ran cold. Could it be a coincidence that on the same day she and the Doctor nearly caught him, he was lurking around near her house? She suddenly felt very acutely how much danger she could be in. She wished she hadn't let the Doctor leave.  
“Right. Thanks Stanley. You make sure you stay well away from him okay? He's dangerous.” She said shakily.   
“Oh aye, you too Miss.” Stanley patted her on the arm, looking a little concerned. She was sure she probably looked a little pale and shaky. She was feeling nauseous. 

Back in her flat Clara shoved her bookshelf up against the door. She was sure she was overreacting but she was feeling incredibly spooked. She had been so sure she and the Doctor had been closing in on their suspect that she hadn't considered that it might be the other way around. Perhaps the Doctor was right and they had met this man before? Perhaps he knew exactly who she was and he was coming to silence her like he had Barnabas?   
She went to her windows and double checked that they were locked tight, then went back to check that no one could get through the door. She was feeling restless and all she really wanted to do was make sure she had covered all the entrances to the house. She rooted through her bag and pulled out a few handfuls of sad, wilted sage leaves. She moved through the apartment distributing the sage on every surface. The Doctor said the sage would protect he from the monster so she wasn't going to take any risks.   
She changed into her nightdress and stuffed a couple of sage leaves into the front pocket. It was getting late, but she was sure she was too worked up to sleep. She felt like she was just waiting for something to happen. Every noise was surely the creak of that man's feet on the stairs and every shadow at the window was the mysterious smoke creature lurking outside.   
She went to the box the Doctor had been looking in the night before and rooted through it. He had insisted that this rubbish would be useful. Maybe she might find something good? She took the remaining torch and tucked it into the pocket of her dressing gown. She remembered the Doctor telling her that the creature hated bright lights so it was better than nothing.   
She found some handcuffs but she wasn't really sure how useful they would be. There was a hefty truncheon which seemed like a fairly useful weapon if she could bring herself to hit someone with it.   
She distracted herself for a while trying to work out how to use the tape recorder. It was a great bulky thing that weighed a ton and caused quite a lot of swearing as she failed to make it work. On the plus side, getting angry at inanimate objects had always been quite cathartic for Clara, so after around ten minutes of struggling she was starting to feel ready for bed.   
She was feeling somewhat confident that she had worked out how to get the tape recorder to start recording, although she wasn't sure how to turn it off. She supposed she could always ask the Doctor when he was done buying all his magnets or whatever strange thing he was off doing.   
She filled a glass of water and went to her bedroom. She shut the door but it didn't seem like enough so she pushed her dresser up against it.   
She felt a little better now that she had barricaded herself in and armed herself. Of course the Doctor would say she was being ridiculous, but she felt comforted by the barricade on her door.  
She settled into bed and lay on her back, certain that she would never get to sleep. 

Clara woke with an unshakeable feeling of dread. It was still dark in her room; there was no reason for her to be awake yet. She knew something had woken her. She lay very still in her bed, not even breathing as she listened for any sound of movement in her flat. A floorboard creaked.  
Clara sat up sharply and grabbed her dressing gown. She groped for the torch and truncheon in her pocket, weighing up which of them she should take. She left the torch and hefted the truncheon.   
The floorboard creaked again and she heard the toilet flush. She paused uncertainly. The flush? What kind of intruder pulled the flush? She huffed in irritation, remembering that she had given the Doctor a spare key. She also remembered telling him not to come by after dark.   
She lowered the truncheon slowly and pushed the dresser away from the door, ready to give him a good telling off. As she reached for the handle the door crashed inwards, hitting her in the face and sending her sprawling onto the ground. Pain exploded across her temple. She tried to stand, to run or attack whoever it was, but before she could move she felt hands on her arms, holding her in a vice-like grip. She cried out, an incomprehensible yelp that she hoped might wake one of her neighbours.   
She felt her hands being wrenched behind her back and felt cold metal on her wrists. The handcuffs. Why had she just left them lying out on the table like that?   
As her attacker pulled her into the living room she found her vision starting to clear after the dizzying blow from the door. Her flat was dark but she could see someone had turned the place over. She noted that the sage was all gone and felt her stomach turn at the thought of what that could mean. She was tossed roughly onto the chair and had to struggle onto her side to be able to see what was happening.   
A small, dark figure was standing over her. A lean man, his hair reddish in the faint light. She knew him. She had met him before not so long ago.   
It was the deacon from St Patricks church, with the kind smile, so concerned about Betty. How could it be him?   
“Try to calm down Miss Oswald. You'll see this is for your own good. It'll be here soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So British restaurants were like canteens that popped up in the war offering super cheap dinners for poor people or people who's houses got destroyed in the blitz.   
> Also, did anyone guess that the bad guy was like, one of the only other people we met in the whole story? Suspects are hard.


	12. The Trick

Clara was slumped on the floor in her living room, hoping the damp feeling on the side of her face wasn't blood. The room was still dark, the Deacon had not bothered to turn on any lights. Of course, she recalled, the creature hated light. And it was coming.  
“Frank... It was Frank right? We met before at the church. Do you remember?” She tried to keep her voice calm and level but it came out several octaves higher than usual.  
The Deacon looked up from the box of police equipment he had been looking at. He looked confused in the dim light.  
“Yes, yes. Miss Oswood, wasn't it? You came in with that shifty Scot.”  
Clara didn't bother to correct him on her name, she was too distracted by the audacity of a man saying someone else was shifty after breaking into her house.  
Her only choice was to try to get through to him somehow. She couldn't escape or fight him, her hands were tied, and though he wasn't a large man, he was still much bigger than her. She remembered the Doctor telling her that you could break out of handcuffs by breaking your wrist, which he had seemed to think was appropriate lunchtime chatter. She wasn't sure if that was a manoeuvre she could pull off.  
“That's right.” She agreed. “We came to talk to Betty. We wanted to help her. That's what you wanted too, wasn't it?”  
He surprised her then. He didn't ignore her, or look guilty or even get angry. He smiled. It made her breath catch in her throat. She tried to push down her rising panic.  
“And I did help her.” He said serenely. “I can help you too.”  
“I don't need help.” At least, she didn't need the sort of help he might give her. She needed help getting away from him.  
“But you do! You just don't see it.” He shook his head and laughed softly. “I can see it. You aren't happy are you? You've suffered and you've sinned too. But you can still reach salvation!”  
Clara said nothing. She knew he wasn't really listening to what she said.  
“But I can help you. It can help you. It's helped so many people, given them redemption.” He sank down into the chair, relaxed and at ease. Of course, he had no reason to be afraid.  
“The creature? The one that's been killing people?” Clara asked.  
“No! See you don't understand!” He stood sharply, suddenly agitated. “You think I would help something that was killing people?”  
“That's exactly what you're doing!” Her voice shook with anger.  
“That's not what I'm doing! I know people like you and that Scot! You think you're so clever, that anything can be explained by scientists! But this can't! It's a work of god.” He clutched his crucifix in his fist and took a deep breath.  
“You think god wants you to feed innocent people to some monster?” She laughed derisively. “You're out of your mind.”  
“No, no... You don't understand, you don't know what it is. It's obvious isn't it?” His eyes were wide and glassy. He looked almost deranged.  
“I don't know what it is, and I'm pretty sure neither do you.”  
“But I do know.” He crouched down, so his face was just inches from Clara's. She wanted to turn away from him, to push him back, but she held his gaze defiantly. “It's an angel. A messenger from god.”  
Clara found herself lost for words. An angel? It killed people, how could it be an angel?  
“Frank, Mr Hoy, that's not what it is.” She said shakily. “It's not an angel, it's a predator. It kills people. We have to stop it.” She held his gaze, desperate to make him see sense.  
“It is an angel, that's why it came to me. It needed someone, a servant of god, to help it. It had that other man, Price, helping it, but he didn't understand. He was scared and selfish.”  
“And it killed him.” She said, suddenly understanding. She had been thinking that John Price had been the wrong man, that maybe she and the Doctor had been responsible for his death. But he had been involved, the creature had just gotten bored with him. Or perhaps he was drawing too much attention? Perhaps he wasn't as well equipped as a kind faced priest was at finding victims? _You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. ___  
“It saved him! He was a criminal!” Frank spat, his voice icy. “He was helping it to save his own sorry skin, not because he really believed in what it was doing.” He took another deep calming breath. “But it rewarded him. It saved his soul, just like it saved the souls of all those unfortunate people. Drunks and whores and wastrels.”  
“So they deserved to die, did they?”  
“No, you still don't understand. That's why you need saving as well. You've strayed from gods word, unmarried and shacking up with that old man!” He sneered.  
“What?” She said, laughing a little hysterically. Did he really think she was having an affair with the Doctor? She didn't see much point in correcting him. She had much more pressing problems. “It's not saving people Frank, it's just killing them. It's tricked you, but it's okay. It's fine, it's not your fault.” Her voice sounded desperate even to her own ears.  
“I'm not stupid, I've not been tricked. I know what I'm doing. This angel takes the souls of people who have strayed from god and it frees them. From suffering, from their sins. It does them a kindness, don't you see? Even Price. It loves us all.”  
Clara shook her head, desperately, beseechingly. He turned away, ignoring her and went to the window, that was hanging open.  
“Please, Frank, this is wrong, you know it is! If you could just speak to the Doctor, he knows about these things, he's seen them before, he-”  
“Shh!” He held his hand up dismissively, still looking out of the window. “It's here.”  
Clara could feel herself shaking now. Her body ached from tension but she felt almost like her body wasn't her own. Like she was floating, her head swimming. There had to be a way out of this.  
Smoke poured in through the window, great reams of it, billowing out across the floor. It moved almost like a liquid, spreading out it's tendrils and filling the small room. She felt cold where it touched her.  
Frank dropped to his knees and pressed his hands together. He shivered where the creature's smoky arms wrapped around him.  
She tried to stand but with her legs folded under her and her hands stuck behind her back she couldn't rise. And where would she go? She would never be able to get the door open with her hands behind her back.  
The smoke closed in around her, the dark, suffocating smoke.  
A voice cut through the darkness. Not Frank, not any of her neighbours. A familiar voice, one she hadn't heard in 4 years.  
“Clara? Where's your ration book? We need to get some eggs.”  
“Danny?” She cried. It was Danny's voice. How could Danny be there? He was dead, he had been dead for years.  
“No it's okay Clara, I'll go. Need some fresh air.”  
She was dead. She must be. The creature had killed her and she hadn't even noticed. Because how else could Danny be there?  
“Danny, I'm here! Danny!” She called out to him, she tried to see through the darkness to see him, but it was impenetrable.  
“Yeah, I'll see you later okay.”  
“No, Danny! Don't go!” She struggled and tried to stand. The smoke swirled around her and cleared, to reveal quite a different scene to the one she was expecting.  
She was now in her old flat, the one she had moved out of years ago, the one she had lived in with Danny. Everything was just as she remembered it. Danny's coat was on the rack, that ugly little wooden camel ornament that she had always hated was sitting on the bookshelf. Danny was turning away from her, going to the door.  
“Danny, don't go, come back!”  
He opened the door and turned back as he crossed the threshold. He smiled at her, that affable, kind smile she hadn't seen in so long.  
“Love you.” He said, before closing the door in her face. She was alone now, in that big flat. Just as she had been after he died. And she knew what she was seeing now, she remembered that conversation. The last one they ever had before he died. And it had been about eggs. She hadn't even replied when he said he loved her.  
“Danny...” She sobbed. Was this hell? Was she dead and this was her punishment?  
The smoke curled around her and then she was in a church. It was icy cold, cold as death. Everyone was dressed in black, their heads bowed. She knew what this was. It was her mothers funeral.  
Her father was crying. It was the only time she ever saw him cry, he was always so distant after that day. She'd lost both of her parents. It hurt so much to remember, it felt almost like a physical pain.  
In fact, she was suddenly feeling quite a lot of pain.  
Her chest was tight, she couldn't breathe. It was like a creeping, squeezing cold that moved across her body. She was frozen in place, there was no escape.  
But then it was retreating, suddenly, recoiling away from her. The smoke cleared away sharply, like an animal bolting. It flinched away and settled in the corner of the room, as far from her as it could get.  
She coughed and struggled to draw breath. She was back in her flat, although she realised now that she had never left. The creature had tried to kill her. Why hadn't it succeeded?  
Frank stood shakily and looked between her and the creature in dismay.  
“What did you do?” He asked, angrily. Clara ignored him.  
“Can't do it? Maybe you've eaten too much recently?” She said, her eyes fixed on the pooling black smoke across the room. The smoke lurched and twisted, like a sick animal. A shape began to emerge from the blackness, more solid than before. A long tendril of smoke stretched out to her and took form. A claw, like a hawk's talon, extended towards her chest and pointed towards her breast pocket.  
The sage! She had put some sage in her pocket before bed, knowing the creature hated it. It had saved her life.  
Frank's eyes followed the pointing, ghostly claw and he advanced on her, rage written across his face. He ripped the sage from her pocket and shoved her roughly onto the floor. She lay on her side, too weak to rise, and watched him head to the bathroom, no doubt to flush her last defence away down the toilet.  
“Hey! You understand me right? I know you do!” She called out to the creature hoarsely. It was churning and seemed to be taking shape. Long limbs were forming out of the smoke, two long arms trailing feather-like tendrils, tipped with grasping claws. A neck was stretching out from the shrinking smoke. What she guessed must be a head emerged. It was bird like, a long, hooked beak with black, sightless eyes above it. It's final shape resembled an elongated, skeletal raven. It's wings were bony and tattered looking, it's legs ended in wicked talons. The long beak and empty eyes reminded Clara of one of those plague doctor costumes she had seen in a museum.  
It turned its head towards her sharply, clever but feral at the same time.  
“That's right, you do understand don't you? Listen okay, just listen to what I have to say before you kill me.” She couldn't keep the tremor out of her voice. This was her last chance. “You want prey right? People you can eat? And he's helping you, but he won't be able to help you much longer. We nearly caught him. He's too sloppy. But me? I can fly under the radar a lot better than him. You kill me, and you're wasting a big asset. I can bring you people a lot easier. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Do you understand that?”  
The creature cocked it's monstrous head curiously. It was contemplating her. The Deacon stumbled back into the room and dropped to his knees at the sight of the creature. He bowed his head in reverence.  
The creatures head snapped sharply between the two of them. Weighing them up. Clara held her breath.  
It turned to face Frank and walked towards him on its long, clawed limbs. Frank made no move to get away; he wasn't scared of it. It reached around him with it's arms and smoke billowed from its body, engulfing him. It took only a few moments before the creature withdrew from him, leaving him slumped and lifeless on the floor.  
Clara's breathing was ragged and she struggled to sit up. She was starting to genuinely consider breaking her wrist to try to get out of the handcuffs.  
The smoke receded and the creature turned back towards her. It watched her with it's blank eyes.  
“You want my help, right?” She said shakily. It needed her help now, now that it had killed it's last helper. She realised that this must have been what happened to John Price. The creature bowed it's head, as close to agreement as it could manage. “Right, so you need to show me how. I know he was dumping the bodies for you. Show me where. You can do that right?”  
It bowed its head again and reached its bony, tattered arm towards her. She couldn't feel any pressure as its claw touched her forehead, only icy cold.  
She saw a place, familiar but only distantly. A church, red brick and plain. A statue over the door. It was St Patrick's.  
Then the graveyard, small, with tidy rows of graves, some recently dug. She understood. The bodies were in the graveyard. Where better to hide bodies? And who better than the church deacon to conceal them there?  
“The church...” she breathed, as the vision receded. “St Patrick's? Is that where you go? In the daytime?”  
The creature confirmed with a nod of it's head.  
“You live there?”  
Another nod.  
“And that's where we'd find you?” It stared at her with it's unseeing, black eyes. “I have one more question. How do we kill you?”  
The creature cocked it's head, confused.  
“What, you thought I would help you?” She laughed mirthlessly. She knew she would die now, but she still felt a strange satisfaction at having outwitted her killer. The creature lurched towards her, angry, but unable to make any sound. “You can kill me if you like. It won't make any difference now. I've been recording you!” Clara nodded towards the tape recorder that was still sitting on the coffee table, the red light flashing. “My friend has a key to this house and when he comes here, guess what he'll find?” The Creature shook it's head from side to side in it's distress, shifting on it's feet. “That's right, he'll know exactly where to find you and if you kill me he'll come after you. He's close to finding out how to kill you.” She didn't know whether that was true or not, or even if she'd successfully managed to record their conversation. But the creature didn't know any of that. “So you can kill me, but you're as dead as I am!”  
Clara shivered as smoke began to pool around her. The creature was loosing it's shape, melting down into it's smoky form. It snaked around her, coiling and tightening it's icy grip on her. This time there was no escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit-snacks!


	13. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit son, time to kill the beast!

The Rescue

Smoke engulfed Clara's vision, ice cold and blinding. She could hear sounds, Danny's voice again, but something else as well. Rattling and shouting, not Danny shouting, but someone else. She couldn't tell is it was real or part of the vision brought on by the creature. There was a great crash, enough to almost drown out any other sound. Footsteps thundered towards her, but she couldn't see anything. She was still lost in the smoke.  
“Oh no you don't!” A harsh voice cut through the sound of Danny's laughter. The Doctor's voice. She tried to call out to him but her voice was stuck in her throat.  
Light pierced through the pitch black of the smoke. She felt the creature flinch back for a second time, Drawing hastily away from her as she was blinded by a brilliant light.  
“Doctor!” She spluttered, keeling over onto her side again.  
“Clara! Get up! We have to go!” She saw the Doctor, looking gaunt and ferocious in the torchlight. He wielded the torch like a sword, the arc of light slashing at the creature. It cringed back each time the light touched it.  
She struggled on the ground, weak and exhausted. Summoning up all of her remaining strength, she pushed herself back up onto her knees. A strong hand gripped the back of her nightgown and hauled her onto her feet. She staggered back and found herself in the Doctor's arms.  
“Time to go!” He said brightly, a slightly manic expression on his face. He tried to tug her towards the door, still swinging the torch wildly. The creature seemed to be less and less affected by the light. It started to advance on them as they backed away.  
“Wait, the handcuffs!” Clara rattled the cuffs desperately.  
“Outside!” He said gruffly “Unless you were set on being dinner?” He pulled her to the door, where they staggered over the wreckage of her bookshelf, which the Doctor must have knocked over getting into her house. The creature lurched after them on it's spindly limbs, it's head twitching from side to side in distress as the Doctor continued to flash the torch at it. The Doctor slammed the door shut behind them. He turned to look at her, the manic glint still in his eye. “Run!”  
Clara turned and charged down the hallway with some difficulty. Her hands were still stuck behind her back and her legs ached as though she had just run a mile. The Doctor trailed behind, still flashing his torch uselessly.  
“Well, I suppose doors aren't much use.” He said. Clara looked around and saw smoke spilling out under the door. In her distraction, her foot caught and she crashed to the ground. “Come on Clara, no time for that.” The Doctor hauled her to her feet again. She cried out as pain lanced through her ankle.  
“Dammit, I think it's sprained.” She said weakly.  
The Doctor stuffed the torch into his jacket pocket and hoisted her up into his arms unexpectedly. “You know how to make things difficult, don't you?” He wheezed. He huffed with the exertion of lifting her, shuffling awkwardly towards the front door. Balancing her weight on one arm, he fumbled with the door handle. They spilled gracelessly out into the street, Clara nearly slipping out of the Doctor's arms onto the pavement. He slammed the front door shut after them as well and started off down the street.  
Clara craned her neck to see behind them as he ran. It wasn't until they were rounding the corner onto Lexington Street that she saw the black smoke begin to pour under the front door.  
“It hasn't seen us, go down the alley!” She nodded emphatically towards the dark alleyway where she had met with Stanley the day before.  
The Doctor ducked around the corner and hurried to the darkest corner, behind the bins. Once they were sufficiently hidden, the Doctor deposited Clara onto the floor and flopped down beside her, panting for breath.  
“Sorry.” Clara said weakly. She couldn't believe she had been so stupid as to trip at such a crucial moment.  
“What are you sorry for? You found out where it lives didn't you?”  
“How do you know that?” Clara asked accusingly. “Exactly how long were you outside for?”  
“Just a little while. You were doing very well, I thought you might not even need me. Also some idiot left a bookshelf in front of the door so it was a bit difficult for me to get in.”  
“Well, you weren't supposed to be coming over anyway. I told you not to go out after dark.” Clara snapped.  
“Oh, I'm very sorry, shall I take you back to your flat so you can finish what you were doing?” He said sarcastically. He drew a key from his pocket and fiddled with the cuffs still binding her wrists.  
“Why did you come over anyway?” Her wrists came free finally and she rubbed at them in relief.  
The Doctor was silent for a moment, watching her. He seemed to be carefully considering his next words. “I had a feeling you weren't safe. It would be my fault if something happened to you, so I though I should check.”  
They were both silent for a few moments, both breathing raggedly.  
“Well... Thanks.” She said softly. “It wouldn't be your fault though. I got myself into this, I knew it was dangerous.”  
“Guilt's a strange thing Clara. It doesn't need to make sense. You can feel guilty about something you had no control over.” His face looked dark and drawn. She knew he must be thinking of something else, but she didn't press him.  
He was right though, she realised. Hadn't she felt guilty after Danny's death? If only she had insisted on going to the shop, he would still be alive. Or even if she had just remembered to pick up the eggs on her way home from work.  
“What do we do now?” She asked. She gingerly felt her ankle, noting that it had already swollen. It hurt like hell and her whole body felt weak.  
“We? We do nothing.” Clara shot him a confused look. “You look like death warmed up. I don't think there's much you can do right now.”  
“But what about that thing? We need to do something, before it gets away.”  
“Quite right. And look at that Clara.” He gestured up towards the sky. She realised that it was no longer late at night as she had thought, but rather early in the morning. The sky was beginning to lighten and she could hear birdsong on the air. “The beast will have to return to it's lair. At least for now.” He grinned his sharks grin.  
“So what are we going to do?”  
“I will go to the churchyard. St Patrick's you said, yes? I will slay the beast and be back in time to take you somewhere to get your ankle checked out.”  
Clara huffed in irritation. “You are not going there on your own!”  
“Well I'm certainly not carrying you all the way there!”  
“What are you even going to do when you get there? It'll kill you!”  
“Oh yes it probably would.” He agreed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a large lump of something metal. “But I have my secret weapon. Magnets!” He seemed inordinately pleased with himself.  
“Magnets? What's that gonna do?”  
“Kill it. Hopefully.” The Doctor stood suddenly and made for the end of the alleyway.  
“Wait, Hopefully? How is a magnet supposed to kill it?” Clara called after him.  
“Not sure, I haven't tried it yet!” He shouted over his shoulder as he disappeared onto the street.  
“Doctor!” There was no reply.  
Clara struggled to stand, the pain in her ankle and her exhaustion making it almost impossible. But she had to do something, the Doctor was going to get himself killed. And of course, now he mentioned it, if she left the Doctor to fight that thing alone and he was hurt, she would feel incredibly guilty.  
She gripped a bin and pulled herself up, wobbling dangerously on one leg. She was standing, that was a good start. How she was going to get to the church, at least five minutes walk on functional legs, she had no idea. She cast around, rooting through the assorted rubbish lying in the alley.  
An old broom poked out of the top of a bin a few feet away and she hobbled over as fast as she could. She wrenched it free and found that the bristles were worn down to the point of it being unusable as a broom. However, it made a pretty excellent crutch. Clara wedged it under her arm, resting the worn brush end under her armpit.  
She hopped along the alleyway experimentally, finding that she could move fairly quickly if she didn't mind a little pain in her ankle.  
She set off, a ridiculous sight in her nightdress, hobbling along with an improvised crutch. Luckily there didn't seem to be anyone out on the streets at that hour to see her.  
The adrenaline that had been fuelling her seemed to be wearing off now and it was only through sheer force of will that she could keep going. She knew that the Doctor would get himself killed without help.  
Eventually, the church loomed into view, it's brick red tower looking strangely ominous to Clara. She reached the door to the church but found that it was locked tight.  
“Doctor!” She hissed, casting around for any sign of him. She heard a sound, coming from behind the church, soft and plaintive. Someone was crying. “Doctor?” She hopped down the steps of the church with renewed vigour and rounded the corner to find the graveyard. The light was dim behind the church, but in the moonlight she could make out a deeper darkness lurching between the graves. It was the creature, pure smoke now, moving around a figure that was prone on the ground. A lean, pale figure, hunched over with his face in his hands. Clara hurried towards them, with absolutely no idea what she might do when she got close. She just had to hope she could come up with something.  
The Doctor's face was buried in his hands and he was letting out a low, terrible moan.  
“What do I do?” She asked him desperately. The creature was tightening its grip around him, getting ready to finish him off. But she knew he could still hear her.  
“The nails...” The Doctor's voice was weak, but she heard him nonetheless. The nails? She had no idea what that was supposed to mean. “The f-floor” He choked, before he was completely engulfed in smoke.  
Clara dropped to the ground, casting aside her makeshift walking stick and grasping in the dirt to find what she needed. Her hand closed around a box that rattled as she lifted it. Nails. She ripped the box open, and with no idea what exactly she was supposed to do, she tossed the contents directly into the heart of the smoke.  
There was a terrible sound, like a rush of breath into dying lungs and the smoke shrank back from her. The creature solidified for a moment, writhing in agony, it's face and chest peppered with nails, before it collapsed with a final death rattle. The smoke dissipated almost instantly, leaving only the nails and a large metallic lump where the creature had been only moments before.  
Clara dragged herself across the floor to where the Doctor was slumped against a headstone and flopped, boneless, onto the ground beside him. She had never felt more exhausted in her life. She was sure that nothing in that moment could be as good as simply passing out and leaving the whole mess of an evening behind.  
“Doctor, we did it.” she wheezed. “Magnets. Brilliant.”  
He made no reply. She craned her neck to look at his face and found him pale as death and unmoving. She lurched upright, her head spinning.  
“No! No, don't you dare!” She grabbed his shoulders and shook him desperately. His head lolled to the side. She pressed her ear to his chest, trying to pick up any sign of a heartbeat. There was a faint thrumming.  
She felt the Doctor stir under her, his chest inflating with a great, deep breath. She looked up to see his face, drawn and pale, his expression hard to read.  
“Doctor!” She laid her hand on his cheek in relief. “You idiot, You'd be dead if I hadn't shown up!”  
“I could say the same to you.” He said weakly. “Thank god that worked, eh? It would have been pretty embarrassing if I'd been wrong.” He smiled wanly. Clara wanted to make some retort, but her head swam sickeningly. She rested her head back against the Doctor's chest and slipped into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking magnets, how do they work?  
> I actually do have an idea for another story if anyone wants one. It's a mystery set in a spooky orphanage! I'm having fun writing!


	14. The Christmas Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tha end!

24th December 1949

The fire crackled in the grate, warming the small room and casting long shadows. Clara drew a blanket around her shoulders and struggled to make herself comfortable on the lumpy sofa. The sofa in her new flat just felt wrong, too soft.  
She opened her book and tried to concentrate on the story, rather than think about being alone on Christmas eve. Her father had asked her to travel up to Blackpool, as she did every year, but she had declined. She made up some story about visiting with an elderly neighbour, but the truth was she just didn't want to spend any time around his new wife and her horrible family.  
That wasn't to say she didn't have any plans for Christmas. She had cooked a large Christmas ham and made a lot of sandwiches, as well as some biscuits, to take to Stanley and the other homeless people that she had met at Barnabas' funeral.  
She'd been to a fair few funerals after the many victims of the creature had been found. Nancy, Barnabas, Betty and she'd even made an appearance at Lilly Woodhouse's funeral, at the insistence of her friend Emily. She had made friends with such a wide array of homeless drunks and prostitutes that she was sure it would give her father's new wife a heart attack.  
In the end, the police had been so perplexed by the killings that they had been happy to accept Clara's version of events. Certainly it was the most logical version of events, and didn't involve a monster at any point.  
As far as anyone but Clara and the Doctor knew, John Price and Frank Hoy had been the killers. The exact circumstances of Frank's death were a little fuzzy, but then again, it wasn't totally clear what had killed any of them. The coroner had been stumped.  
There was a soft knocking on Clara's door, a welcome distraction from the book that was failing to interest her. She clutched her blanket tighter around her and went to the door. It was most likely one of her nosy neighbours, asking yet again what she would be doing for Christmas.  
She opened the door and upon seeing who was standing on the other side she swung it shut again.  
“Your door closed Clara. Is it broken?” The Doctor's voice was quiet from the other side of the door.  
Clara took a deep, steadying breath. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to ignore him or shout at him.  
“Clara, can I come in?” The Doctor's voice rose to the point that if he kept talking, her neighbours were sure to complain.  
She wrenched the door open and gave him her fiercest scowl.  
“Inside.” She said, stepping aside and pointing inside her flat so aggressively that it made the Doctor flinch.  
He walked through into her living room and went to warm his hands by the merrily crackling fire.  
“Honestly Clara, you wouldn't believe the day I had. I went by your old flat and I can tell you, the lady who lives there now was very rude.”  
Clara leant against the door frame and watched him. He grinned at her and carried on talking, completely undeterred by her silence.  
“To be fair I did let myself into her flat, but that's just because I thought it was yours! Anyway, I found you now. Third times the charm!” He looked at her properly and a small frown crossed his face. “What's wrong, are you cross?”  
“I don't know Doctor, is there some reason I should be cross with you?” Her voice was icy. The Doctor started to look nervous.  
“Ah... Well I don't know. Maybe you should tell me, I'm not very good at this.”  
“Six weeks.” She said.  
“Oh, has it been that long?” He made a show of innocence, his eyes wide with surprise. “I've been a little busy. Anyway, I'm here now so-”  
“Six weeks!” She snapped. “You could have been dead for all I knew about it! What have you been doing?”  
“Research. Had to go back to Glasgow. Tend to get a little distracted when I really get into it.” Clara continued to glower at him. “I stayed to see the police didn't I? I didn't exactly leave you to sort it all out.”  
“You were gone for six weeks, no word from you, and then you just come swanning in here like everything's normal?”  
“Well lets face it Clara, absolutely none of this has been normal.” A small smile crept onto his face.  
“You think you're really clever don't you?” Clara said, her posture softening. A part of her was really just relieved to see him. A larger part of her was mad as hell that he had vanished for six weeks.  
“I am clever.”  
“No, you're an idiot.” She said plainly.  
“Yes. Quite right, that too.” He agreed. He sat on her lumpy sofa and started to remove his boots.  
“Make yourself at home why don't you?” Clara groused. The Doctor didn't seem deterred. He removed his jacket after his boots were off and leant back in her chair with a sigh.  
“Ankle's all fixed then?”  
“It was only sprained.”  
“You moved house.”  
“Yes.”  
“Why? I like that other place, the sofa was comfortable.” He shifted about on her sofa, grimacing.  
“I went off it.” She said evasively. She sat in the hard backed armchair and crossed her arms, watching him move the pillows about on her sofa.  
“Well that's understandable I suppose.” He looked her in the eye. “I probably could have been more helpful there, eh? Helped you move or something.”  
“It's fine, I don't have that much stuff to move. It all got blown up a few years back.”  
“Well then it all would have fitted in my car very nicely.” He looked pleased with himself.  
“You have a car?” She cursed the excited tone that crept into her voice. He was very good at distracting her when she was angry.  
“Just got her. Fantastic thing. Blue! Brilliant colour.”  
“Is that what kept you gone all this time? Just been riding up and down the country in your blue car?” She said sarcastically.  
“Well there was a fair bit of driving. I've been doing research, like I said. Had to get some supplies. I'm going to need quite a lot of electromagnets.”  
“Electro-magnets?” She said sceptically. “Is that a thing?”  
“Oh yes. It might be just the thing. For capturing one of those monsters.”  
“You've found another one?” She uncrossed her arms and leant forward in interest.  
“Why, would that mean you weren't angry with me any more?” He said hopefully.  
“I make no promises.”  
“I have a lead. In Wales. And a car.” He gave her a meaningful look.  
“You want us to get in your car and drive off to Wales?”  
“If you'd like.”  
Clara sat back in her chair. They watched each other in silence. The Doctor looked hopeful and a little embarrassed. Clara wasn't totally sure what her face was doing, but she was sure it wasn't friendly.  
“The typewriter works pretty well now. So I guess you fixed it.” She said, a little dismissively.  
“Well...” The Doctor looked a little perplexed. “Good.”  
“So I guess you did a good job.”  
“Yes.” He frowned at her. “You too.”  
“Did I?” She cocked her head and leant forward. She wasn't totally sure what she wanted him to say.  
“Yes. Think I would have been in quite a sticky situation if I hadn't had you helping me.”  
Clara's expression softened. She allowed a small smile to creep onto her face. “Yeah. I probably would have gotten in over my head as well.”  
“Maybe we would have better luck if we worked together?” The Doctor said softly. The light from the fire made his features look a little harsh. He looked raw and vulnerable in a way she rarely saw.  
“It's Christmas eve.” She told him.  
“That explains a few things.” He said, seemingly just noticing the small Christmas tree in the corner. He plucked a gingerbread decoration from the tree and bit into it. There was silence for a few moments while he chewed on the cookie thoughtfully.  
He stood and held his hand out to her. She took it uncertainly and he pulled her up onto her feet.  
“So, mystery and adventure. And a blue car. What do you say?”  
Clara studied his face. Young and old at the same time. Lined and serious, but with eyes that were full of childlike trouble.  
She leant up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Mystery and adventure? Let's go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I finished a whole story! I'm quite pleased. Even if it wasn't that great, it still feels like an achievement. Thanks for the nice comments and for taking the time to read it!


End file.
